Spirit to Flesh
by LittleWing2
Summary: Edward finds a letter written by a mysterious woman 92 years ago. Their correspondence ignites a love affair that tests the bounds of their relationships, their hearts and time itself. Based on the book/movies Twilight and The Love Letter. AU Human ExB
1. Chapter 1 The Proposal

Spirit to Flesh A Twific by LittleWing

A/N: Well, here I go. This story is based on and inspired by a number of sources, the 2 main ones being Twilight (of course) and The Love Letter. If you've seen either of these movies then you will have a good idea of the general plot, though hopefully, I've added a different take in some way. You tell me. Many thanks to my super duper beta, Jessica1971. Thank you for all the great questions and insights. You kept me honest AND made me look good. I couldn't ask for more

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the source material; I'm just playin' around and havin' a ball. No copyright infringement intended. No money made. Viva le Fan Fiction!

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Chapter 1: The Proposal

Bella had been staring at the same blank page for forty-five minutes.

"Ugh," she growled, slamming her notebook shut in defeat before she played the scene that held her captive over again in her mind.

_* An hour earlier *_

"Good Afternoon, Mr. Newton, how kind of you to visit me today."

"The pleasure is mine, Bella. You are as lovely as ever this afternoon."

"Thank you," she said softly. "You are too generous."

"Would you care to take a turn with me in the garden?"

"Oh…of course."

Bella could feel what was coming. She'd been here before. The chance meeting followed by the repeated visits to the house. The necessary courting of her father followed by the perfunctory courting of her. Strolls in the garden, invitations for tea – perhaps a movie. Inane discussions of poetry and music.

This would be her third proposal in two years. The thought of the impending inquiry made her feel slightly nauseous and she slowed her steps to ensure she did not offend Mr. Newton with the contents of her stomach.

After all, it wasn't his fault that she had no interest in him. By all accounts, she was a fool, overindulged by her father with aspirations of true love, independence, and happiness. What kind of a woman turns down two suitable matches, she wondered. Bella was 19, hardly a spring chicken, even by the modern standards of 1918.

_The __kind __of __woman __who __turns __down __three_, she thought with a smile. Her smile was wiped clean by Mr. Newton's prepared speech.

"As you know, Bella, I have been visiting with you and your father for over a month now, and as you might imagine, I have become quite fond of him and, of course, you."

She sighed softly from behind him, pinching the top of her nose. "Yes, Mr. Newton. Thank you," she chimed in. Bella had learned that it was necessary to exhibit appropriate responses like "Uhmmm" and "Yes, Mr. _. Thank you," in order to mask her disinterest.

"Bella, let me be plain. I believe you and I are well suited, and I have spoken with your father to ask permission to seek your hand in marriage. Does this agree with you?"

Bella had stopped walking and was now a good ten feet behind him, preparing for him to turn around. She used the time to attempt to arrange her face in what she hoped was a look of surprise and appreciation. When he finally finished his speech and turned to her, the expression on his boyish face was triumphant.

"Mr. Newton, I must admit that I am taken a bit off guard by this unexpected proposition, flattering though it is." She knew, if she needed to, surprise could be used as a good excuse to stall.

"Michael. Won't you call me Michael after all this time?" As he spoke, his face turned gentle and patient with a soft smile playing on his lips. Bella couldn't hold his gaze. The truth was that Michael Newton was a good man – a kind man with a light spirit and disposition. What he lacked in depth he more than made up for in agreeability. She should want to be with him – she knew this. Any woman in her position would seize the opportunity he offered her at once. But, as always, she had the opposite response. She recoiled from the expected, always longing for the unfamiliar, the strange, and the unknown.

"Do you feel nothing for me, Bella?" he asked when she did not respond. He was only trying to draw her out. Bella could tell by the levity in his tone that he had not considered the possibility that she would refuse him.

"May I ask you a question Mr…Michael?"

"Of course." He smiled down at her with obvious affection. Her tentativeness around him was always so endearing. To Michael, Bella was a child – sweet and innocent – needing only to be led by a gentle hand.

"What do you expect of a wife, sir?" As Bella finished her question, her eyes met his squarely. He was slightly taken aback, first by the directness of her question, and second by the unfamiliar look in her eyes. She seemed suddenly older, more erect in her posture. He took a moment before answering.

"My expectations are simple, my dear. I require only a gentle and quiet spirit to comfort me and share my life. Perhaps a few common interests which we already share and children, if the good Lord blesses." His voice carried with it a growing understanding that she meant to assess his offer.

Bella was silent as her attention drifted past his words to the woods behind him. The light breeze suddenly picked up, swirling her hair about her face, hiding her expression from him. She did not move to tame it.

_How__strange_, he thought. _I__must__have__truly__surprised__her._ After several moments, when Bella offered no response to his answer, Michael decided to break the eerie silence that had settled between them.

"Bella dear, is this not what you want as well, or have I completely mistaken you?"

Bella stared at her hands as the wind died down, settling her hair around her once more.

"I should think what you offer would be at the heart of any woman, Mr. Newton. I merely wonder if I am truly able to meet your requirements."

The softness of her voice betrayed the wild thing inside. Her own voice was a whisper to her. She needed to whisper for fear of shouting. She fought the urge to run into the woods, fought to hold onto the trace of her upbringing that would help her stay in place just long enough to see him to his carriage. Of course, he had misunderstood.

"Oh, sweet child, you more than meet my requirements. You are a vision of serenity."

Michael gathered her hands in his and brought them lightly to his lips, laughing apparently in relief.

"Oh, how you ensnare me, Bella!"

"I don't mean to," Bella murmured too low for Michael to hear over the sounds of his own self assurance. She needed to get away from him quickly before the last threads of decorum broke and she released her true feelings of revulsion. Bella withdrew her hands from his grasp as she spoke.

"You have flattered me greatly today, Mr. Newton, something to which I am not accustomed. If I may have your indulgence a bit longer, I would ask that you'd allow me time to consider thoroughly the offer you have made and assure myself that I am indeed up to fulfilling your expectations."

His expression was one of benign amusement as he took in her words. Bella imagined that perhaps he was tickled by the notion that she seemed unsure of herself. If so, he could not have been farther from the truth. Bella was all too sure she had no interest in the life he offered.

"Of course, dear one, but do not trouble yourself unnecessarily. I can assure you that your father and I have given this a great deal of consideration."

Bella nodded her acknowledgement and moved quickly towards the front of the house. The air returned the moment his carriage retreated down the long driveway. She turned then and ran as fast as she could into the woods.

Bella opened her notebook again, trying to let her feelings out. But the poem she wanted to write of rage and the burden of men's expectations was nowhere to be found. Instead, all she felt was heartbreak, sadness, and a sense of deep loss for something she could not name. Picking up her pen, she began to write a letter to a man who did not exist.

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They say reviews are love...I wanna know what love is. Please show me :-)


	2. Chapter 2 The Desk

Spirit to Flesh A Twific by LittleWing

Chapter 2: The Desk

"There are worse things than shopping, you know," Victoria teased, pulling him from the car as he pretended to look for his shades.

"Name them, in order of severity," Edward replied, giving her a scowl before relenting and giving up the mock search.

"Alright, I'll make a deal with you. You shop with me for 1 hour and I'll take a row boat out with you on Jamaica Pond."

"Deal." Edward perked up immediately. It was a beautiful, unseasonably warm day in Boston, and Victoria couldn't resist the temptation to combine her two loves – wedding shopping and her fiancé. They had been engaged just over three months, with the wedding less than six months away. She still had to find a dress, select the china, send out invitations – to her it was a fantasy come true. To Edward, it was a means to an end. He only had two requirements of their wedding. First, it had to be small (less than one hundred people). Knowing Victoria, she would have filled Fenway Park full of guests and negotiated CNN coverage of the event. Second, the wedding had to take place soon. He didn't want to wait any longer than he already had. Victoria had wanted at least a year to plan; Edward wanted to elope within three months. They compromised on a nine month engagement with a wedding in his parent's backyard.

While Edward let Victoria think that it was lust and romance that drove his desire for speedy nuptials, that was not the case. It had taken Edward 37 years to finally decide to commit to someone; he simply didn't see the need to wait any longer. Victoria was a good person; they were compatible in most ways and they accepted each other for who they were. It was not the love he had once expected and waited for. It was nothing like his parents – Carlisle and Esme. That kind of love had never happened to him. After a while, Edward decided that he needed to stop waiting and hoping and be realistic. A week after his 35th birthday, he finally responded to one of Victoria's thinly veiled advances and asked her out to lunch. They had been together ever since.

His older brother Emmett and brother in-law Jasper jokingly referred to his engagement to Victoria as "the arrangement". He couldn't really blame them. They both had what he never found. Rosalie and Alice were perfect for them. He never had that kind of connection with anyone.

Edward pulled Victoria closer to him, as if to reaffirm his commitment.

"Where to, my dear?"

Victoria looked at him, grinning. "I want to check out a few antique stores for my dress. You think you can handle that?"

"No problem, but isn't it bad luck for me to see the dress before the wedding or something? I can just hit that coffee shop over there and wa…."

Victoria cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Not a chance. It's only bad luck if you see me IN the dress," she continued. "Now, turn right and don't make me hurt you. We've got 59 minutes to go."

The first few stores were filled with old dresses and doilies. He couldn't envision Victoria in anything she chose. To Edward, she was the quintessential modern woman – well educated, career driven, 5'10", and strawberry blonde with a taut and lean gym body. She had no interest in cooking, cleaning, or doing dishes and was well versed in a hundred different ways to take down anyone who opposed her – verbally or physically. Nothing about Victoria said "quiet strength", so the idea that she would walk down the aisle in a demure, early 20th century gown struck him as completely out of character. It let him know that there were still things about her that he didn't know or understand.

Finally, they arrived at a store with a few antique pieces of furniture. Thanks to his mother, Edward knew quite a bit about antiques and was grateful to have something to distract him from the numbing sensation mass shopping always induced. He strolled through the old maps and muskets, just trying to keep from jumping out of his skin while Victoria tried on her 18th dress in 52 minutes. Out of the corner of his eye, Edward caught a glimpse of something large and whisky maple hidden under a tattered white tarp. Curiosity and boredom convinced him to walk over to it, pulling the tarp aside to reveal an exquisitely preserved maple desk that gleamed with a finish that spoke to the quality of its original craftsmanship. Edward took in the intricate carvings that covered the front of the desk drawers that framed the top and sides of the desk. There was an oval inlay design at the center of the desk's surface.

Running his fingers over the grain, he felt immediately possessive. His eyes darted around to catch the attention of the store owner and make sure no one else was eying his property.

As the store owner approached him with the all knowing look of a sale in hand, Victoria slipped her arms around Edward's waist. "Hey babe, what's this?" she asked.

"My new desk."

"You're like a kid with a new toy, I swear." Victoria marveled as she watched Edward ogle his new purchase. "Don't make love to it, okay. It's just a desk – a very old dusty desk."

"Don't be jealous, Vic. I'm marrying you," Edward replied, pulling her to him so that she could admire the desk with him.

"Uh huh. Well, I'm gonna get out of here. My flight leaves at 5 am. Looks like you two need some time alone together with that big tub of wax. Don't hurt yourself now," Victoria smirked. Edward ignored her.

"You sure you don't want me to take you to the airport?"

"No, I've got some work I need to finish up, plus I still need to pack." Victoria pecked him on the cheek before leaving his embrace. Edward followed her to the door, giving her a lingering kiss for her patience. Once he saw her car pull off safely, he returned to his new project.

Edward began pulling out the drawers and dusting them. Stopping briefly to wipe the cobwebs from the legs, he grabbed a chair and sat down. He hadn't been this excited about a purchase in a long time, not since the Vanquish. Edward's home was beautiful, but sparsely furnished. Despite his mother's protests, he had always insisted he didn't need a lot. He had his piano, a bed, a kitchen, clean clothes, a couch, a library for reading, and now a desk.

As he opened and dusted the middle drawer on the upper compartments of the desk, his hand caught on a flat oval shaped piece of metal that protruded from the top part of the drawer compartment. He pulled the drawer out completely to see the obstruction more clearly. Hunching down, Edward could see it, but couldn't imagine why it was there. As he reached in, trying to pull the piece of metal out, the front panel of the desk compartment popped open.

At first he froze, thinking he had broken it somehow, but he quickly realized that the panel was still hinged to the desk. Slowly, he pushed the panel back to reveal a hidden chamber in the desk which held several pieces of stationary and a fountain pen.

Edward paused for a moment, his eyes wide with mischief, as if he had just discovered buried treasure. He was suddenly very glad that he was alone. Victoria would really think he was silly.

Reaching in, Edward handled the papers gently. The pages were blank except for a few that were embossed with the name _Isabella M. Swan_ at the top. As he laid the pages out on his desk, a smaller, folded piece of paper fell out. Unfolding it carefully, he read the letter inside.

My Love,

Where are you? I weep as I write this, knowing that you will not hear me, yet still I am compelled. Today, I have received an invitation to another life, one I do not know or desire – to wear a hollow ring upon my finger and claim a love I do not have.

For I can not give what is already yours, and since I cannot find you, both my love and heart are lost.

But, what of duty now? Must I accept, take my place within the mold that has been made for me, even though I do not fit?

It is a pretty place, no doubt, so sweet the smell sickens me. You are the fresh air I breathe that cuts through this stench, rough and cool against my face.

It is everything I seek.

You are everything I want

But what of today, without you here? I must find my own way in the dark.

- Bella

Edward read the letter over again, even as the words pummeled him with their intensity, their honesty, their desperation. To him, it was the kind of letter you would only write if you were sure no one else would read it. How else could you be so naked?

As a composer, he wrote like this all the time, but it was in code, in musical notes. People never knew what the notes translated to for him, they just knew the emotion the music left behind and assumed because it lay inside them that it had more to do with them than him – a perfect deception.

Even still, he had never put these words to music – even though he felt he could have in so many ways.

"My love, where are you?"

_You couldn't play these words without crying,_ he thought. _It would be too much._

He folded the letter back into fourths and stared blankly out the window until dawn.

4


	3. Chapter 3 Enough

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the incomparable Jessica1971

I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

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Chapter 3: Enough

"How are you, dear?" Esme asked Sylvia as she rushed into Edward's office, slightly wet from the rain. Esme had always liked Sylvia. As Edward's assistant, Sylvia had proven that she could be counted on to have Edward's best interests at heart, and that made her a treasure in Esme's eyes.

"I'm fine, Esme. Thanks for asking." Sylvia came from around her desk to free Esme's hands of the umbrella and packed lunch she was carrying. "Why don't you put your coat over here?" Sylvia said, pointing to the coat rack by the door. "It's really coming down out there, isn't it?"

"Yes," Esme said, fussing with her hair. "It's a good thing I decided to bring lunch. Is my son around or has he forgotten his date with his mother?"

Sylvia laughed at the idea. _Esme was probably the only woman Edward truly loved_, Sylvia thought ruefully. She was not a fan of Amazons.

"Nope, he's in the practice room. I think he's working on a new piece. He kept humming during the faculty meeting this morning. I can go get him if you like."

"No, sweetie, you relax. This is for you," Esme said, separating out the lunch containers. "You're losing too much weight. As we get older, you have to keep a bit on. That's the secret, you know." Esme winked and pushed the chicken salad and seven-flavor pound cake towards Sylvia's slim fingers.

Sylvia smiled knowingly. Carlisle had insisted on performing her triple bypass personally and still called her once a month to check on her – 5 years after the surgery. Sylvia had just gotten over the flu and had lost more weight than she needed to. Esme's pound cake would do just the trick. "Thank you, Esme," Sylvia called as Esme slipped out the door.

Esme knew the music department by heart. Edward had been a professor and conductor here for seven years. Plus, she met Edward here for lunch at least once a month. Esme was grateful that, despite his age, Edward still enjoyed his mother's company. As she stepped out of the elevator on the lower level, the hallway was filled with his playing. Esme knew it was him; no one played like Edward. On the piano, Edward was his truest self, completely in and out of control - intense passion, absolute precision. He could play literally all day and not get tired. She knew nothing in his life filled him like his music.

Esme slipped quietly into Practice Room 8. It was his favorite, with a wall of windows overlooking a secluded school courtyard. The fact that Edward was working on a new piece warmed her. He had not written anything new in years. She watched him silently as he played a segment over and over, looking for the continuation. Her sigh broke through his concentration and Edward smiled, motioning for her to sit with him.

"I'm sorry to be so late. I got lost down here. What time is it?" he asked.

"You're not late; I'm early. I brought us lunch since it's raining."

"Ummmm," he hummed, kissing Esme's cheek while eying the packages she laid on top of the piano. "You're too good to me."

"That was hauntingly beautiful. What are you working on? Is it new?"

"Yes," he said simply, absently stroking the piano keys.

Esme watched her son for a moment. He looked tired, but energized somehow. His intensity was palpable. Something had happened.

"What inspired it?" she asked.

"A letter I found last night," he replied. Esme noticed that he kept his focus on the piano keys.

"A letter?"

"Yes. I found it in a desk I bought yesterday. A very old desk."

Esme was silent. This – whatever this was – was not what she had expected to hear. She knew her son. She would have to wait for him to tell her what was really going on.

"For I can not give what is already yours, and since I can not find you, both my love and my heart are lost," Edward whispered to himself, playing a soft succession of notes before pausing.

"You memorized it? The letter."

"Yes." Edward paused for a long moment before adding, "I don't know why, but I can't stop thinking about it."

Edward lifted his head then to look at this mother through ancient eyes. "My God, Edward! Are you alright?" Esme took her son's face between her two hands. "What has happened?"

"Nothing, mom. I'm alright. I've just been up….thinking."

"You need to eat," Esme demanded, grabbing a container and fork and pushing it towards him.

"Yes," he chuckled. "I'm starving. Thank you."

They ate in silence for a moment while Esme tried to figure out what, if anything, this had to do with Victoria. In between bites of her salad, she plotted.

"So," Esme started, having decided on an indirect course of questioning. "Are you and Victoria coming over for dinner on Sunday?"

"I don't see why not," Edward answered in a low, distant voice. He knew that his mother had never really warmed to Victoria. It wasn't that she didn't like her, it was simply that she knew that he and Victoria would never have what she and his father had found over 40 years ago. She couldn't accept that Edward was settling.

"How is Victoria?" Esme tried to ask casually. The slow smile on Edward's face let her know that he was on to her. "She's fine, mom. We're fine. Please don't worry yourself."

Esme sighed, putting down her half-eaten salad. "I just want you to have everything, Edward, everything that really matters. That's all, sweetie." Her hands found his unruly hair and tried, for the millionth time, to find order in the chaos.

Edward looked at his mother as her brows furrowed the way they always did when she was trying to fix his hair. Gently, he captured her hands. "Not all of us get everything, mom. But I have a lot. I have enough."

"What is enough, Edward?" He couldn't have this conversation with her again. Not today, when he was acutely aware of how empty his life would look if he was willing to examine it.

"Enough is enough that you shouldn't worry," he said finally with a forced smile, and quickly rose from the piano bench.

"Okay, okay," Esme conceded, grabbing the elbow of his shirt. "Sit down. I want to play with you for a moment. Sit down."

Slowly, Edward lowered himself back on the bench, his face breaking into a genuine smile. They hadn't played together in years. "Name the tune," he grinned.

Instead of answering, Esme began playing the first few bars of _Clair de Lune_. He played in perfect time with her, his first teacher.

Their playing was quiet enough for them to hold a conversation, and as they played Esme came up with a novel idea.

"Tell me more about this letter you found."

Edward had wanted to share it with someone, but who? Who would understand the effect it had on him? Who wouldn't think he was crazy? Edward and his mother had always been close. Maybe, he thought, she could at least help him sort through his thoughts.

"Her name is Bella," he began, and instantly regretted starting there. He didn't want her to think that he was simply fixating on a dead girl. When Edward noticed that Esme didn't react to this, he continued. "I mean, the letter was written by a woman named Bella. She appeared to be writing to a fantasy, someone who did not really exist to her. It seems she was worried about being forced to marry someone she didn't really like."

"Why?" Esme asked, still looking at the keys in front of her, playing her part softly.

"I don't really know. The letter was dated March 3, 1918. I think she probably didn't have a lot of options."

"The letter was dated yesterday?" Esme stopped playing for only a brief moment before resuming her playing and pondering the coincidence.

"Yes, 92 years ago yesterday." Edward answered with a tight smile. His mother didn't miss anything.

"And will you answer it?" Esme asked casually.

Edward chuckled, sensing in some unconscious place that he knew she would say something like that. "And how would you suggest I do something like that?"

Esme continued to play as she answered him without missing a note.

"The letter found its way to you, Edward. Maybe you were meant to find a way to respond."

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Life is like a box of chocolates, but chocolates aren't nearly as sweet as a review from you, so what do ya say? Yes, please..yes. :-)


	4. Chapter 4 A Novel Idea

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the divine Jessica1971

I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

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Chapter 4: A Novel Idea

Edward walked around to the passenger side door, planning to open it for Victoria. He could hear the laugher spilling from the kitchen out into the open back patio. Before he could fully open the door, Victoria sprang from the car.

"A little excited are we?" he teased.

"You know you can never impress the in-laws too much. I need to have them wrapped around my little finger before the wedding."

Instead of saying _Good luck with that_, which is what he honestly thought, he simply said, "Naturally." Edward tried hard never to lie to Victoria, but he also saw no reason to be unnecessarily cruel.

Carlisle and Esme's house was the perfect intersection of grandeur and comfort. The two story colonial was set on a hill that gently sloped down to a creek just through the partially wooded back yard. The front of the house was elegant and understated with its half moon driveway, classic open shutters, and black lacquer door. Looking at the house, you couldn't tell that the entire back of the house was open with floor to ceiling French doors that led out to a beautifully landscaped backyard with pathways to private coves and hidden places throughout the ten acre property. Nor would you guess that the interior was thoroughly modern, warm, and open with a big off white kitchen, sunken living room, and enormous library. It was Edward's childhood home, where all his best memories were made.

In the entire house, which now housed his parents, his older brother Emmett and his wife Rosalie, and his younger sister Alice and her husband Jasper, Victoria didn't have a single ally beyond him. Everyone was nice, of course, welcoming and kind to the very edge of sincerity. They just didn't think Edward and Victoria fit together. It made matters infinitely worse that no one believed for a second that Edward was in love with Victoria, and they each, in their own way, told him so regularly.

In his defense, Edward pointed out that he didn't think he'd ever been "in love" with anyone, and was fairly certain that he was incapable of swooning emotion. Edward loved Victoria; he cared for her well being and was ready to commit to her. That was enough.

As his mother opened the door, Esme's kindness could not fully mask the look of disappointment that flashed across her face every time she saw Victoria and her son together. Carlisle, standing just behind his wife, chuckled at his son's exasperated expression.

"Hi, mom," Victoria sang. Esme smiled and pulled her into a hug, saying nothing.

Carlisle quickly filled the void with, "Well hello, Victoria. We're glad you could make it back from your trip in time to come over tonight. Emmett and I are just finishing up with the grill." He placed his arm around her shoulder as he spoke, pulling her deeper into the house where Alice and Jasper were getting plates in the kitchen. Carlisle gave Edward a nod before leaving his son and his wife hovering by the front door.

"Mom, please try..." Edward began before Esme cut him off.

"Oh please, Edward," Esme said, waving his words off before checking to make sure that they were alone. "I have something for you," she whispered, grabbing a black box that was sitting on the mahogany bench by the door. "Let's go outside."

"Mom, what's going on?" Edward asked, eyeing her suspiciously as she stopped behind the trunk of Edward's car.

"This is for you, but before you open it, I want you to promise me that you'll keep an open mind."

Edward's eyes narrowed, but he nodded his agreement.

"Alright, open it," Esme said.

The box was big enough to hold a large candle or a metronome, both of which he didn't need. He couldn't imagine what it was. Flipping the lid open didn't clarify a thing for him.

"You got me ink and a fountain pen?" he asked, confused.

"And stamps," Esme added, pointing to the small satin pocket on the box lid that held the stamps.

"And stamps," Edward echoed his mother, more confused than he was used to being.

"These aren't just any stamps. They're stamps from 1918," Esme said slowly, watching for the understanding she knew was coming.

After a brief pause, they both spoke at the same time:

"Mom..why are you…"

"I want you to answer the letter, Edward."

"What?" Edward asked incredulously. Now he felt he understood why they were outside, otherwise Carlisle would have had his mother committed.

"I want you to answer the letter you told me about on Tuesday - the one that you memorized."

His first thought after the initial shock was _Mom –this is crazy._ However, the words that came out of his mouth shocked them both.

"How?" he asked with too much earnest curiosity for his comfort.

"Manhasset Post Office, it's the only surviving post office that was built before 1918."

Edward knew the place, could visualize it in his mind, but still.

"Wait," he said to Esme and himself. "This is crazy."

"Just think about it," Esme replied in a rush, grabbing the box from his hand before opening the trunk and putting it in, then slamming it shut.

Just as she was finished, Victoria called from the front door. "Come on guys. The steaks are ready and I'm starving."

"Coming, dear!" Esme called back. As she passed Edward on the way to the house, Esme leaned over, pretending to kiss his cheek. She whispered, "Just think about it."

What she didn't know was that Edward would think of nothing else for the rest of the day.

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Tell me not that you won't review. Tell me darling that you do..:-) (I crack myself up...its a gift, its a curse.)


	5. Chapter 5 Miracles

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the deliciously talented Jessica1971

I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

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Chapter 5: Miracles

Bella had torn her room apart.

"Where could it be?" she hissed in frustration. How could her letter just disappear along with her stationary and pen? Who could have known about the secret compartment in her desk that she had requested privately? _No one_, she reasoned. It didn't make sense, but there was simply no other explanation.

"My God!" she heard her father gasp from the doorway. His voice sounded muffled from her vantage point under the bed. "What has happened here?"

It took a lot to surprise Charles Swan. By the tender age of 15, The Civil War had shown him enough blood and treachery to last a lifetime, but seeing his daughter in a fit was a rare sight.

"Nothing, father." Bella emerged from under the bed slightly rumpled. "I ..uh…seem to have misplaced my….earring," Bella stammered unconvincingly. Charles could see that whatever Bella was looking for, she didn't want to share it with him.

"I see," Charles said, leveling his gaze on his daughter in a way that let her know he wasn't fooled. "Dinner is served. Shall we?"

Dinner between Bella and her father was usually a quiet affair. Having lost Bella's mother, Renee, at childbirth, Bella and Charles were accustomed to their quiet life together. At meals, Charles always made an attempt at conversation before settling into his paper, at which point Bella turned to her books or daily correspondence.

As Maggie delivered the paper to her father and a letter to Bella, Charles cleared his throat.

"So, you and Mr. Newton have come to an understanding then?" Charles began. Both he and Bella suddenly became captivated by the designs on their dinner plates.

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When Bella returned from the woods four days ago, after her visit with Mr. Newton, Charles had been waiting for her. As soon as she entered the house, Charles noted how drawn and frazzled she looked.

"Bella, did he upset you?" Charles' voice was thick with confusion and concern. "I had hoped his proposal would be a joy to you," he offered feebly, but Bella was in no mood for games.

"Come now, father, how could you know me as you do and expect such a thing?"

Charles sighed in resignation. He could not deny the truth of her words. He knew he should have at least given Bella a hint of the direction his conversations with Mr. Newton had taken the last few visits, but he feared that she would have condemned the idea without even considering it first. While Charles was not overjoyed with the choice, he felt confident in Mr. Newton's character, having spent a great deal of time with Mr. Newton and those who knew him well. He knew that Mr. Newton could offer his daughter a secure life of comfort, perhaps even contentment. While Charles was not a man of modest means, he was not wealthy, either. A match with Mr. Newton would ensure that his daughter always had more than she needed.

The night after the proposal, Bella had gone upstairs almost immediately after their exchange and did not come down until morning. When she finally did emerge, she seemed refreshed and calm. He thought perhaps she had started to see his proposal as an idea worth merit.

He had been wrong. Charles had seen it in her eyes as she turned to run into the woods behind their house, and again when Mr. Newton's carriage arrived this afternoon unexpectedly. But he had still hoped. Today's visit had been brief, but Charles noted Newton's smile on his way to the carriage. Bella had not seemed upset by his visit.

He hoped…

----------

"No, father, I am still considering his offer."

"He is a good man, Bella," Charles offered, hoping he sounded convincing. "He will be a good provider for you."

"I know. I know what you say is true. I just…" Bella lifted her eyes from her plate then, fighting the feeling of inexplicable loss that she had been trying to push back all day. Tears pricked her eyes as she finally let herself feel the growing doubt in her mind. What if she was wrong to want more? What is she was sealing for herself a fate of unhappiness?

"Is he what you want for me?" Bella asked. Her voice was a whisper, small and unsure.

Charles put down his fork. He could feel Bella's eyes on him, could hear in her voice the hollow sound of surrender. It broke him. This was not what he wanted for his daughter. Charles wanted whatever match she made to be one made in at least anticipation and hope, if not love. He wanted Bella to feel that she was embarking on an exciting new adventure, not kneeling in submission to a burden thrust upon her. But she doubted herself and now turned to him for reassurance, for guidance. If he said yes, he knew it was likely that she would marry Newton. If he said no, she would retreat and perhaps miss her chance at a good match.

Charles stared at his hands placed flat on the table, searching for the courage or the cowardice to lie to his daughter, to tip her in a direction that even he could see had only a tenuous chance at success. He met Bella's gaze undecided and that was a mistake. He could never lie to his only child, his beloved daughter whose brown eyes reflected the quiet strength of his own.

"I want you to be happy, darling. That is all I have ever wanted for you. I don't know whether or not you will find what you are looking for in Mr. Newton, but I do know that you will make the right decision. You always do, Bells." He smiled as he saw the effect his words had on her. He saw her resolve return. "I will stand with you, Bells, no matter what you decide."

Bella wiped a tear from her eyes and smiled back at her father, nodding her head unconsciously at his words. They were like a balm to her restless mind, buying her the space she needed to think things through in her own way.

They fell into a comfortable silence, each reaching for their distraction of choice. Bella opened her letter carefully with her butter knife, forgoing the ivory letter opener that Maggie had placed on the tray. The script on the envelope was unfamiliar to her, which made Bella especially curious. Bella corresponded regularly, but only with a few close friends and she knew their handwriting on sight.

After opening the carefully folded letter, Bella froze upon reading the first line.

_Dear Ms. Swan,_

_Please try not to panic as you read this. I mean you no harm. I have read the letter that you placed in your desk and I wanted, beyond sense and logic, to respond._

Her mind ran immediately to her missing letter. Her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment then red with anger as she thought of someone stealing her private thoughts. Bella's hand flew to the discarded envelope and turned it over in her hand.

_E. Cullen_

_The audacity…_ she seethed, _to sign your name so boldly to the very evidence of the crime! Did he not know her father was best friends with the town sheriff?_

She looked up to see her father engrossed in his paper, chewing absently on a carrot. Bella opened her mouth to report the offense, only to close it abruptly. What exactly would she tell him? _Father, someone has stolen my letter to my imaginary love. Could you please get it back for me?_ The image of her even saying the words made her cringe.

Bella sank back in her chair before pushing off from the table. She needed to go into her room and read this letter in a place where she could safely display her outrage, then think of what to do next.

"Father, I'd like to retire for the evening," Bella murmured, slipping the letter into the pocket of her skirt.

"Of course, dear," Charles replied without looking up.

Bella flew up the stairs and locked the door behind her. Normally she would have taken her dishes to the sink and helped with the washing, but not tonight. Sliding down the edge of her bed so she could face the low flames of the fireplace, Bella pulled the letter from her pocket and began reading again.

_I don't really know where to begin. I actually can't believe that I am writing you, but I guess I just need to accept it and move on. Three days ago, on the exact day that you wrote your letter, I bought a desk that now I must assume was yours. In it, I found your letter. I have never read anything so painfully beautiful in my life. It mesmerized me. It mesmerizes me still._

_I can't stop thinking about your words and all the possible things they could mean. You have given a name to all the silent searching I have felt my entire life. But I must admit, even if I knew the words, I would not have had the courage to put them down on paper as you did._

_I think I should stop here and offer you an apology. If you ever receive this, please know I had no intention of violating your privacy. When I found the letter in my desk, I thought it was odd and curious. How could I have known what it was and the effect it would have on me? How could I have foreseen that it would drive me to the craziest of things - writing you back? I'm still shaking my head in disbelief._

_I wish I had something wise and magical to say to your predicament. To be completely honest, (and how could I be anything less given what you have unwittingly shared with me), I am as lost as you describe. I am engaged to be married even though I am not in love. It is as you said, as if my heart and love are somewhere else. I have never found them. Though I am not in love with her, I care deeply for her and I am committed to building a life with her, to make it the most that it can be, but I have no illusions. My ring, though hollow, will bind me to the promises I make._

_But I am a man in my time and you are a woman in yours. I could hardly tell you to wait for your dream when I have long since given up on mine. But I am older, perhaps you are young enough that you have time to wait. I don't know what is expected of you in 1918, but in 2010, 37 is a bit late to just be settling down._

_Yes – you read that correctly. I've been dancing around it for 3 pages now, thinking that I don't really need to explain because you're never going to read this, but just in case miracles do happen – what makes this letter so damn crazy is that I am writing to you from a future in which I own the desk where you are probably sitting right now reading this (I hope you haven't fallen off your chair by now.) In my time, it is March 6, 2010._

_I don't think I can say anything more after that. I hope you find your way through the dark._

_Very Truly,_

_Edward Cullen_

Bella let the pages slip from her hands as she tried to grasp the full meaning of his words. Could they be true? Rather than panic, she felt warmth. Rage was replaced with curiosity and a strange energy she could not name.

Her gaze flickered to her desk, trying to imagine what it would look like 92 years from now. The carpenter had remarked once that the desk was designed more for a man than a woman; Bella smiled at the irony.

Taking a seat at her desk, Bella traced the inlay she had designed with her fingers. Slowly, she took a new piece of paper from her stationary drawer and dipped her pen in the inkwell. She could think of only one thing to say to him, this man from the future. She wrote her message quickly, folded it carefully and placed it in the secret compartment that they now shared. Afterwards, Bella fell into a deep sleep in front of the fire.

* * *

They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but is two thousand words worth a review from you? I sincerely hope so. Go on. It won't hurt.


	6. Chapter 6 Something Found

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the genius of Jessica1971

A/N: I just wanted to say Thank You! to everyone who read, rec'd and reviewed the first 5 chapters. You guys are some kind of awesome! Extra special sloppy wet kisses to Jessica1971, for being the best story pimp a girl ever had, Elizabethan, for getting on twitter for me AND starting a thread for this story, my big sis, for telling me I could do this, and Trice, for letting me know that I could write. The link to the Spirit to Flesh thread is on my profile. See you there!

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

* * *

Chapter 6: Something Found

_"Miracles do happen, Mr. Cullen."_

Silence. There was complete silence in his mind for the first time in so long he couldn't remember. Usually he had a song or a piece of music at the back of his mind, but what note do you play for the impossible? So his mind was silent as he read her words over and over.

_"Miracles do happen, Mr. Cullen."_

She got his letter.

He and Victoria had spent last night together after dinner at her favorite restaurant. He found himself slightly distracted during their lovemaking, but he didn't think she'd noticed since she fell asleep immediately after her third orgasm. He usually enjoyed her presence in his bed, but last night he had been restless. After watching the trees sway in the night air outside his window for an hour and 45 minutes, he got up and wandered the house. He'd bought the land for his house 3 years ago because of the view. He was surrounded by pine and maple trees on 3 sides of his house. From the porch that wrapped around the entire back of his house, you could stand outside and be completely enveloped by the sights and sounds of the woods. When having the house designed, he had 2 requirements – minimal clearing of the trees, and floor to ceiling windows on as many exterior walls as possible. The interior structure was made with beams from the trees that had been cleared, exposed and gleaming in rich reddish browns. His mother called it the tree house. While the house was fully equipped with three traditional bedrooms, Edward had set his bedroom up in a loft that had been built off the living room.

For this reason, he could not play his piano like he normally would. The sound would surely disturb Victoria. So he wandered, eventually finding his way to the desk where he sat staring at the front panel which held their secret. _Had she gotten the letter?_ he wondered.

"Of course not, you idiot," Edward hissed. "It would take more than an old stamp and an even older post office deposit box to thwart the space time continuum."

After he and Victoria left his parents house yesterday, Edward made an excuse about needing to work on a piece of music so that he could be alone. Once inside, he stared at the contents of the black box his mother gave him for a long time before finally giving in and writing her.

As the words flowed, Edward realized how much he had wanted to do this – to reach out to her and tell her how much her words had affected him. He'd written three pages before he'd even realized it, then threw on a pair of sweats to drive across town and mail it at the Manhasset Post Office. "The oldest pre-civil war post office in existence," his mother's note had said on the map that indicated where he should go to mail the letter. He smiled as he pulled up in front of the building. His mother was a force of nature when she got an idea in her head.

Edward tried not to be hopeful as he'd slipped the sealed envelope into the mail slot. By now, with him holding vigil at his desk, it was obvious that he had failed. He hadn't allowed himself to even think about it all day, but the night's silence seemed to have called him to the desk. He fingered the inlay on the desks surface and wondered how such a robust desk came to be hers. _Ours_, he thought. Just then his fingers began to feel heavy and warm, almost as if he was moving in slow motion. He raised his hand to his face and wiggled his fingers at the strange sensation. As he pushed off from the desk, determined to get some sleep, he suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to open the secret compartment and check.

"For what?" he asked himself aloud. "You're obsessing now," he growled in frustration and pulled himself back to his bed. He dreamt that a letter was waiting for him in the desk.

By morning, Edward was grumpy and tired, wanting only to be left alone. Victoria gave him an amused look and a quick kiss before dressing and heading off to work. As soon as she left, Edward hopped in the shower, trying to wash away the memory of his dream and the compulsion to go downstairs and check the desk. He was thoroughly disgusted with himself by the time he made it to the kitchen and on the verge of blaming his mother for giving him the crazy idea in the first place.

While downstairs, he gave the desk a wide berth, avoiding it in his peripheral vision as he moved around the open kitchen making his breakfast.

"This is ridiculous!" he roared. "There is nothing in there."

To prove his point and finally relieve the tension, he marched to the desk.

"There is nothing in here!"

"…complete ass," he muttered aloud as he pulled back the desk chair roughly and sat down, but he reached in the bottom drawer and pulled the latch just the same.

Edward held his breath as his eyes caught a flicker of white before opening the panel fully to reveal the new letter inside and the one lined note that almost stopped his heart.

As Edward regained his composure and began to construct his reply, he was keenly aware that something really important was shifting in his life. He didn't know what or why, but he knew how he felt – alive for the first time.

-----

They wrote each other at least once a day. Sometimes she would write him twice and he would feel bad and try to catch up the next day. He'd never been so sleep deprived, but also had never been so absolutely exhilarated in his life.

For Edward, it was like talking to a different side of himself, and Bella was so open… so honest, that he couldn't stop himself from imagining that she felt the same way, too. For weeks and weeks his mind was consumed with reading her words and sharing his thoughts. He had never been this unguarded with anyone. Being confined to their letters made their communication more intense. With every letter they feared that the laws of nature would reassert themselves, so they took nothing for granted, infusing each letter with urgency. Bella and Edward tried to convey all that they could about whatever topic they discussed. From jazz to Darwin, to women and politics, to movies she liked that he had never heard of. Bella's curiosity about everything was infectious. But best of all, she shared her poetry and her dreams of becoming a published, though anonymous, author and holding a book of her very own poetry.

"If you're anonymous, how can I tell you if your dream ever comes true?" he'd asked recently.

"You'll know because the book will contain the poems I've already shared, plus one I've written just for you," she had replied.

Her words filled him with a deep sense of contentment that should have bothered him, but didn't. After their recent exchange, he began to realize that receiving a letter from Bella had become the highlight of each day. It was better than his students playing a Rachmaninoff concerto to perfection, and better than lunch with his mother. He began to wonder where a call from Victoria would rank on his priorities and was a little dismayed to find that he could not, in all honesty, place it above a letter from Bella.

Over the past month, Bella had become the center of his world. He had no explanation for how this had happened so quickly, nor did he feel the need to come up with one. He was simply drawn into her deeper and deeper with every word that passed between them.

The change in him had not gone unnoticed. Both Esme and Sylvia watched him in silence as he wrote furiously in this notebook. But neither woman said anything to him about it because, as they noted repeatedly, he looked happier than they remembered seeing him in a long time. Edward had noticed Esme watching him contentedly during their family gatherings, and as he met her gaze briefly with a small smile of his own, Edward knew his mother understood the source of his new found joy. He was glad that she knew. Even though he would never discuss it with her, it made what was happening to him more real, knowing that Esme knew.

When meeting with Emmett and Jasper for drinks, jokes about "the arrangement" didn't bother him as much anymore. Jasper caught on quick.

"Man, you've got that little smile plastered on your face all the time now. What's up with you? This can't have anything to do with 'the arrangement'", Jasper lifted his hand in quotation marks to emphasize the point before taking a sip of his beer.

Abruptly, Jasper slammed his beer on the bar, "Wait, are you cheating on Victoria?" he blurted out.

"What? No, of course not!" Edward stammered. Was he cheating on Victoria? "I'm not seeing anyone else," he continued in response to Jasper's narrowing stare. At least he could say that with absolute conviction. But that was just a technicality. He had already asked Bella to send him a picture of her. In a few days, that would be a lie, too.

"Alright then, so what's the deal?" Emmett grinned, enjoying the rare sight of his younger brother withering under Jasper's gaze.

Edward let out a loud sigh and ran his hands through his hair. "Nothing," he finally offered. "Nothing is going on. I'm just really enjoying the selections for the summer concert. The kids are working really hard." That, at least, was true.

Emmett leaned back on his elbows to get a better look at his brother. The dark circles that framed the undeniable spark of happiness in his eyes, the lightness of his stance, the almost perky way his shoulders stood up under his slightly rumpled shirt. He looked wired; he looked a little crazed. Edward looked in love. _I wonder if he even knows it_, Emmett thought before turning to Jasper to share his assessment.

"I don't know what it is, but it sure as hell isn't the summer concert." Emmett turned to Edward then. "Man, you look like you're half crazy. You look like you're in love."

Emmett's words hung in the air as two men pondered the possibility and one man tried to think of a plan of escape. Edward concentrated on sounding casual as he let out a nervous laugh.

"Boy, you guys must really need something to talk about." He took a long draw on his beer, pretending to bob his head to the music playing in the background. Emmett and Jasper were not fooled.

"You know you can tell us. It's not like we haven't wanted this for you," Jasper said quietly, leaning in to continue in a lower voice. "Who is she…a student?"

"Please," Edward said in disgust. "You guys couldn't be more wrong. I'm just happy. The wedding is coming up and I'm just anxious to get going with everything."

Emmett and Jasper exchanged looks of disbelief while Edward pretended to check his Blackberry. "Sorry to spoil the mystery here guys, but Victoria's plane arrives in half an hour, so I better get going?"

Before Jasper could protest, Emmett put a hand on Jasper's shoulder. "Alright, I hear you. You go sort it out. We'll be here when you need us."

In that moment, Edward was so grateful for the bond he had with his brother. Emmett always knew when to push and when to let him be. They exchanged brief hugs before Edward hurried out, leaving Jasper and Emmett deep in conversation.

"Whoever she is, he's got it bad. I've never seen him like this," Emmett declared as soon as Edward was out the door. "It's about time. I just hope whoever she is can penetrate the force field around this whole damn wedding. You know, Victoria is strong with the dark side of the force."

Jasper chuckled softly. "Star Wars marathon again?"

"You know it," Emmett smiled. Emmett and his 6 year old son Kyle had a standing monthly ritual to watch the entire Star Wars saga.

"Better late than never, I guess," Jasper muttered deep in thought.

"Wait, you don't know anything about this, do you?"

"No" Jasper said, watching the beads of condensation run down the side of his Guinness. "The other day I walked in on Edward writing what looked like a letter in his office. He was so absorbed that he didn't even hear me come in. When I asked him what he was doing he said 'nothing' and put everything away. It was weird because he was using a fountain pen. At the time, I made a joke about Victoria making him practice calligraphy for the wedding invitations, but he just changed the subject. Now I wonder if he wasn't writing some kind of love letter."

They both fell silent then, each trying to put the pieces together.

------

"Hey you, thanks for picking me up," Victoria said while flipping through her Blackberry as she walked to the open passenger door and sat down.

"You're welcome," Edward replied before closing the door and putting her bags in the trunk.

Edward was in a daze as Victoria launched into the highlights of her trip before they had even cleared the Logan Airport exit ramp. She had just secured a $15 million endowment for the performing arts department and she was buzzing from the high. Edward knew that what Victoria liked most about her job as Development Director for the Boston Arts Consortium was the challenge of getting big name donors. She loved the gilded parties, the elite socializing, the "thrill of the hunt" as she had once described it. "Big Game Only" was her motto and she was good at delivering.

He reached her house before he had even registered having driven that far. Slowly, Edward became aware that Victoria had stopped talking, but he couldn't remember when. He hoped she hadn't asked him a direct question.

"What's going on, Edward? You haven't heard a single word I've been saying."

"Nothing, Victoria, I'm just tired. It's been a long week."

Victoria stared at Edward for a few moments in the dark. He looked tired, but that wasn't what was bothering her. She had been traveling most of the month she knew, but the distant look in Edward's eyes felt strangely familiar.

"Is there something wrong? You didn't mention anything on the phone."

In truth, even if he had wanted to mention anything he wouldn't have been able to. Victoria talked without ceasing whenever they had been on the phone, which suited him perfectly because the one thing he really wanted to talk about, he couldn't tell her.

"No, Victoria. I'm fine, just having trouble sleeping."

"I can fix that, you know," she smirked, deciding to believe that all was well, that he was just tired. Victoria had never been a person who was comfortable talking about feelings. As she placed her hand on his leg, she began to relax. This she knew. This she could do.

The sensation of Victoria's touch brought Edward fully alert, not with the pleasure of arousal but with the shock of his vague sense of repulsion. Edward stared at her hand sliding up his leg and realized with absolute clarity that he did not want her to touch him.

Panic set in. What would he tell her? He knew very well what she expected him to do next. Edward had always been a very sexual person. It was one of the things they had in common. To turn down Victoria's advances would be unprecedented in their relationship, a sure red sign that something was indeed VERY WRONG with them.

The panic made his mind freeze as her hand advanced. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Victoria's smile widen, apparently mistaking his shock for arousal. She couldn't have been more wrong. The trail of sensation she was leaving on his leg made his skin crawl. He closed his eyes to suppress a shudder.

"Have I been away that long?" Victoria chuckled.

_Think…think_, Edward yelled to himself. Four more inches and she would know she had been sorely mistaken about the effect she was having on him. It already felt like his dick wanted to run and hide.

"It does feel like it's been a long time," Edward muttered. His voice was low and slightly shaken.

Victoria's phone rang just as she lifted her hand to palm his crotch. Edward almost choked to suppress his gasp of relief.

"Shit," Victoria muttered as she pulled her hand away to search for her phone in her purse.

Edward opened his eyes slowly, thanking heaven and earth for saving him from his own stupidity. He needed to get home so he could think and sort out what the hell was happening to him.

"Tia, did you get my text? I know, I know. I'm amazing," Victoria teased. "He just wrote the check…..I swear, I didn't have to promise him my first born or anything…. Yeah…wait…Listen, hold on."

Victoria covered the phone and turned to Edward. "Do you mind, sweetie? Tia and I have a ton of follow-up from this trip and I want to debrief with her while its all fresh."

"Of course…of course. You go ahead. I'll see you soon," Edward babbled in relief, but Victoria was already out of the car and talking to her assistant as she headed for her front door. Edward took his time getting her bags out of the car, maintaining a safe distance behind her. Safe enough, he hoped, to let her get fully involved in her conversation, so that when he reached the door there would be no time for a long drawn out goodbye, or more specifically, a long drawn out kiss. He tried to imagine enjoying the feel of her tongue in his mouth and couldn't. She was already in the kitchen when he made it to the front door. He placed her suitcase in the foyer just as she turned around.

"Sorry," she mouthed and blew him a kiss. He waved goodbye, closing the door behind him before taking the stairs two at a time back to his car. He hoped he hadn't seemed too happy.

It was a twenty minute drive from Victoria's home to his house. Edward made it home in seven. As he pulled into the garage, he felt his body begin to unleash the panic he'd been holding in all evening. He began to sweat, even though the night was unusually cold. _Not here_, he thought, _make it into the house first_.

Once inside, he collapsed on his couch, the thoughts and words from earlier today that had pierced his self-control came rushing to the forefront of his mind.

"Are you cheating on Victoria?"

"Man, you look like you're half crazy. You look like you're in love."

In love.

In love.

_Is that what this is? Is that what I feel?_ he wondered. For the past month, he had just been doing what he wanted to do, following the curiosity and the feeling that writing Bella brought out in him. He had not thought to analyze it (which was strange for him) because it felt so natural – so right – like taking her in and letting her do the same was the way they were meant to be.

The thought made him smile. Nothing had ever felt that way to him but music. His love for music came to him from a place so deep he never questioned it. It was the same place that Bella touched in him, the same place where his love for her now took hold.

"I'm falling in love with you, Bella," Edward murmured softly, feeling his chest expand as he said the words. "I love you."

At that moment, he missed her so much his eyes began to sting. His skin burned with the need to touch her, to feel what he loved, warm and soft against him. Unconsciously, he rolled towards the back of the couch, pulling one of the plush pillows into his arms.

"I love you, Bella…finally, I've found my heart." Releasing the pillow, he rose from the couch. He needed to tell her now.

I love you was all he wrote. He didn't need to say anything else. But as Edward sealed the envelope that contained his simple message and prepared to make the trip to Manhasset, he heard Jasper's question again in his mind.

"_Are you cheating on Victoria?"_

_Yes_, he thought. He knew now the answer was yes.

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I think Shakespeare said it best, "How do you love me? Let me count the reviews!" Ha! Is it plagiarism if the misquote is this bad? You could always write me a review and let me know..:-)


	7. Chapter 7 Twin

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the beautiful, but snowed in Jessica1971

I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

* * *

Chapter 7: Twin

Edward had been true to his word. He had not written again and Bella had followed suit out of deference to the simple, hopeless truth of their circumstance. Bella clutched his last letter in her hand as she walked through the back door out into the garden. If she hadn't felt so numb, she might have noticed the chill more and ran back in for her shawl, but right now she needed something to make her feel alive. The wind on her face would have to do.

She moved purposefully to the elm tree where she had first written him, an imaginary love made real, but no less imagined. Bella sank down between the roots of the tree, unfolding the letter carefully to read it for the third time today, as she had done every day since she first received it eight days ago.

_Dear Bella,_

_I'm sorry. I am writing this letter only to tell you that I can not write to you again. I can't express how much my heart breaks to even write these words, knowing that you'll read them, knowing that they'll hurt you._

_What you have given me these past weeks has been more than I had ever hoped to find in my lifetime. I cherish our letters as I cherish you. But to continue with you as I have would make me into a man who is not worthy of all you have given, all you have awakened in me._

_I am engaged to be married. I have committed myself to building a life with her. I know now that I can not honor that commitment and keep writing you. I will not continue to tempt both of us with what we know we can not have._

_I hope you can forgive me for this. I hope you can understand that it is not possible for me to wish more that I was in your time or you were in mine. The truth is that I would trade anything I have to be with you, to have a real chance at what I feel, but I don't know how to find my way back to you, so I will try to move forward here - without you. I hope you will do the same. I hope you will find happiness and remember me, as I will always remember you._

_Yours,_

_Edward_

Leaning her head back against the cool bark, Bella let the tears come. She knew Mr. Newton would come tomorrow for her final answer, and she knew now that she would tell him no. Not because she had hope of finding someone else, but because she did not. Now that Bella had tasted the sweetness of love, she knew she could not abide imitation. A life with Newton, while dull before Edward, would have been torturous now.

She wept, because in all likelihood she knew, at the age of 19, that she would be alone for the rest of her life. The truth of it stuck in her throat and choked her. She hoped that Edward was successful in his pursuit of happiness. She hoped that their love had not claimed him fully, as it had her.

Again, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, pretending they were his, trying in vain to imagine how he would feel. Bowing her head into her chest, she rocked back and forth, trying to will an image of him to emerge, something that she could hold onto, something more real than paper and ink.

A brush against her foot startled her and Bella's eyes flew open to identify the source, but there was nothing. Bella rose to her feet, pushing the letter inside her pocket with one hand while wiping her face clean with the other.

As she moved forward, she felt a wall of warmth right in front of her, like a presence – obviously not solid, but not air either. Bella stretched out her hand to see if the sun's rays were somehow the source and touched the smooth plane of a man's chest.

She froze as a jolt of electricity shot through her. She could not move her legs, but her eyes darted around feverishly trying to see what was not there. Not being prone to fantasy or superstition, Bella was unable to come up with even the beginnings of an explanation for what was happening.

For a moment, the chest and Bella did not move and her hand began to feel warm where it laid. Her fingers fanned out so that she could feel the swell of muscle underneath skin and the faint tremor of a beating heart. She could feel him breathing. The warmth she felt emanating from this being in front of her calmed her for no rational reason. Her mouth popped open and she stared in amazement as she felt a larger hand cover hers over his heart.

Bella fell back into the tree, almost losing contact with the chest in front of her, but he gripped her hand, refusing to break contact. Slowly, the hand crept up her arm, tentatively, inching his way up her forearm as if to confirm that she was real. The touch was gentle, a feather caress that made her tingle in its wake. She closed her eyes just as the hand gripped her upper arm.

Edward.

Suddenly, Bella was pinned to the tree by his entire body. She could feel how tall he was compared to her. His hands caressed her hair, her face, and her shoulders frantically, passionately. She could feel his leg between her thighs and instinctively she opened herself to him. Her right arm was still pressed between them as her left hung limp at her side. She was overwhelmed by the feeling of him all over her, pressing into her hungrily. She could swear she felt kisses on her forehead and cheeks. The mere idea of his lips on her made her whimper as the heat from his body radiated through her, making her legs weak.

"What is happening?" she sighed. "How can you be here with me?"

His body stilled but did not pull away. She felt his hand trace up her left arm to her neck, where he lingered before touching her chin and tracing her lips with what felt like his thumb. Her knees buckled, but he held her in place with his chest flush against her and his knee between her legs.

Slowly, he brought her hand to his mouth. She could feel it moving and realized that he was talking to her, trying to tell her something. His lips made the same movements over and over, waiting for Bella's mind to decipher their message. Once she did, they spoke in unison.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you," they whispered to each other over and over again.

Suddenly, his body jerked back and he was gone. With his body no longer there to support her, Bella fell to the ground.

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Rather than use this space for my usual review begging, I want to send out kisses, hugs, rob porn and fairy dust to every single one of you who has read, rec'd, reviewed or lurked through this story or on the Spirit to Flesh thread. It's so great to share this dream come true. I 3 you all.


	8. Chapter 8 Echo

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the luminescent Jessica1971

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

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Chapter 8: Echo

It had been 8 days, 14 hours, and 32 minutes since Edward had written the letter that sealed him off from Bella. Since then, he had tried. Tried to move on, tried NOT to think of her every second, wondering about all the things he had missed, all the things he would never know - the exact color of her eyes, the smell of her hair, the feel of her hands on him anywhere.

He and Victoria fell back into the familiar pattern to which he was well accustomed, sharing dinners and lunches, picking party favors and china sets, but none of it felt comfortable to him anymore. The more he tried to pull his thoughts from Bella, the more they ran in her direction.

During breakfast one morning, Edward was dismayed to find that he had begun counting his days in letters, as in _I went grocery shopping 1 week before Bella's last letter to me _or_ That exam was due 2 days before my last letter to Bella_. Afterwards, he'd tried to stop this train of thought, even as it became clearer with each passing day that Bella would always be a part of him.

Victoria noticed his distraction, but quickly dismissed it as a general disdain for wedding planning. "The typical male emerges," she'd muttered, rolling her eyes.

Edward had never realized before how little Victoria needed him to complete them as a couple. It seemed as long as he was physically present, Victoria could carry on whole conversations and make decisions for the both of them, with only the slightest pretense of needing or even wanting his input. He wondered if she could truly be satisfied with so little of him. Edward hoped so, because there seemed to be less and less of him every day. It was as if he had given the best parts of himself away with every letter he wrote to Bella, so that now, in this time, there was barely anything left. He had never felt so alone in his life.

Not making love to Victoria had been tricky, but again fate had stepped in to save him just as his late night excuses began to wear thin. The "no sex" rule that Victoria put into effect during her cycle, which Edward had once dismissed as "ridiculous", was now like a buoy in the storm, buying him time.

Sometimes, Edward could convince himself that he just needed time to reach a new equilibrium. But every theory he came up with during his sleepless nights never seemed to last the full light of day.

By the 8th day, the need to connect to Bella in some way, any way, became overwhelming. He canceled his afternoon classes, resolving to just take a drive to clear his head. It wasn't until he took the 225 exit that he knew where he was going. He was driving to Bella's house in Willoughby. He'd gotten her address from the store owner the day after he'd read her first letter, telling the antique dealer and himself that he was "just curious".

Edward had put this drive off as long as he could. He knew that going to her house would make him feel the full weight of her absence. While they were writing to each other, it was easy; he had the real thing, a real connection. Now, he just needed something, anything to help him hold onto the knowledge that she was real, had existed, no matter how sad it made him.

Pulling up to the property, Edward realized he had no plan. What if someone lived in the house? The store owner had said he'd gotten the desk at an estate sale held by some overanxious distant relatives of the original owner. What if the house was occupied now? Would he knock on the front door? How would he explain his presence?

Staring at the stately white and blue colonial, he realized he didn't care. He just needed to be here, be near where she had been. If whoever was in the house thought that he was crazy, he would deal with it then.

As he strode up to the door, Edward came up with a half-formulated story about doing research for the University on Civil War generals. The fact that Bella's father was never a Civil War general was beside the point. After 5 minutes of knocking and trying to peer through the tightly shuttered windows, Edward finally accepted that no one was home.

"What did you expect?" Edward berated himself. "Bella to come rushing out?" Sadly, he knew that he had hoped for, if not expected, just that. He made his way around the front of the house to a pathway that opened up to a slightly unkempt garden with wildflowers, peonies, and tea rose bushes.

Edward's face broke into a smile, knowing from the descriptions in her letters that this was Bella's garden. He wondered how different it looked now, compared to when she had last seen it. If she had walked along the same lime stones that he did now. Edward followed the path as it wove through the garden, grazing the flowers he knew she had planted. Edward remembered Bella writing about how much she loved to sit on a bench in the center of this garden and read, surrounded by the scent of flowers. He looked around for the bench eagerly, hoping to sit where she sat, but could only find the bolts indicating where it had been removed. _We can't even touch the same things_, he thought, feeling his mood turn black once more.

The end of the path led to a wooded area that surrounded the edge of the garden. He remembered this, too, from her letters. He could imagine that this was a place she would have wandered many a day, seeking solitude. Wanting to connect with her in any way he could, Edward passed from the garden into the woods. He traveled slowly through the cluster of trees and shrubs before noticing a huge elm tree directly in his path. Its roots buckled then extended out from the tree's large base, resembling an outstretched hand.

_Maybe she sat there?_ he thought and imagined a small brown haired girl tucked between the tree roots, reading a book by the dappled light of the sun peeking through the leaves. He was lost in thought as he felt something press against his chest, a hovering sensation just below his heart. It was tentative and lingering like a touch. He remained still while looking up to see if leaves were falling on him. The pressure against his chest increased slightly, allowing him to register the pressure as organized in the shape of a hand. His body froze in place just as he began to feel its warmth penetrate the thin cotton of his shirt.

He exhaled in a gust of disbelief. The hand pressed flat against him and he could feel his heartbeat vibrate though the hand that pressed there, the suddenly solid invisible thing in front of him.

_It can't be_, he thought, trying to shut down any speculation into the impossible.

_No, you're imagining this because you want it so bad._

As if to prove his point, his hand came up over the force he felt. His breath stopped when his hand could not press unobstructed against his shirt. It was blocked by a hand, a small, delicate, feminine hand that trembled slightly under his touch.

He blinked his eyes rapidly and looked around, afraid to move any other part of his body but his head. The scene before him was clear. There was nothing in front of him but the old elm, less than 2 feet away, except it wasn't true. He could feel it as his heart beat right through her hand.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Please."

_Just….stay_, he thought, trying to hold himself still while he inched his way down her wrist to her forearm. He closed his eyes then to give into his insanity fully.

"It doesn't matter," he murmured as he felt her body for the first time. He didn't know how long it would last or if it was really happening. He decided not to care. "It doesn't matter."

Her skin was warm and creamy, silky, but firm to the touch.

_Here…she is here…_ he thought as he finally trailed over her elbow.

The thought made him lean into her just as he felt a puff of warm air across his face. His eyes snapped open as he tightened his grip on her arm.

"You're here," Edward heard himself say.

As if finally given permission, his body took over, no longer tentative. His right hand sought out to find her other arm, to understand her parameters and hold her for as long as time and space allowed. Pressing her body against the tree, he was able to understand what he was feeling instantly. He was delirious with the need to feel every inch of her before the moment was gone. Edward closed his eyes again to block out any other sense but touch.

Once he did this, he knew she was real. No longer distracted by what should have been reality, Edward could feel the woman beneath him breathing, moving, and pressing into him. It was too much and more than he ever knew to hope for. The knowledge that it could not last, could not be, made him sob as his frantic touches became kisses on her hair, forehead, cheeks, and shoulders.

_Now. Be here now_, he told himself. He didn't want to feel sadness while God had seen fit to grant him a second miracle in his life.

Just then he felt a succession of breaths against his neck and realized that she must have said something to him. _Her voice_, he thought with a slow, dazed smile. _I can feel her voice._ With his eyes closed, Edward trailed his hand up her arm to her face. Carefully, his thumb found the shape of her mouth and hovered there to feel her short, quick breaths pass through the softness of her lips.

He reached down to bring her hand to his mouth, knowing what he needed to say in this moment, what was more important than any other truth he had.

He said the words over and over with his body pressed against her and her right hand over his heart until he was sure she understood. He could feel her body relax as understanding found her and her lips began to move in time with his, echoing the love he professed, the love they shared.

"I said…..what the hell are you doing?"

Edward had shut down his other senses so thoroughly that he only heard what the man said as his shoulder was being yanked backwards, making him stumble away from the tree, away from her.

He reached out to her immediately, but he could already tell that whatever spell had brought them together was broken.

Edward recovered quickly. He needed to get back to her. He needed to tell her again what he felt here in her woods, in her space. His sense of urgency dampened the fury he had first felt towards the wizened old man who had dragged him from their stolen moment. Instead, Edward pushed past him and his muted threats of police and private property. As he ran to his car, Edward was already constructing the letter he would write and all the things he would finally say.

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A/N: At first, I had planned to beg for reviews by quoting a Rod Stewart song, but then I got almost 30 reviews for this story in the past 2 days!!!!! After doing my own version of the funky chicken dance and calling Jessica1971, we decided that you lovelies deserved a special treat. So we will be updating Ch.9 tomorrow AND giving you Ch.10 on Friday. How do you like them apples? It just goes to show..when you give love, you get love in return and I love each and every one of you! Smooches! xoxoxoxox

p.s. Rod Stewart's song has been rescheduled for next week's review begging. Stay tuned....


	9. Chapter 9 Through the Eyes of Another

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the wise and wonderful Jessica1971

I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

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Chapter 9: Through the Eyes of Another

Bella ran her hands over her bare arms again. Everywhere he touched, she felt alive.

After he was gone, she'd felt the heat of him linger on, keeping her warm, turning her body from girl to woman there in the woods.

Bella arched her back, letting her nipples break the surface of the bath water as she closed her eyes and relished the sensation of cool air against her hot sensitive skin. The feeling reminded her of how the cool air had rushed between them just before he was gone.

As she relaxed her back and returned her body to the water, she began to feel slightly light headed from the steam. The unusually hot bath had been her attempt to recreate the feeling of heat she'd felt when he covered her body completely. She wanted to feel submerged again, encased and enveloped by him. She had never wanted anything this much in this way before in her life.

She was aware of herself in a completely different way now. She knew his touch was responsible, but she could not understand how or why. It was as if she suddenly understood what her body was made for, why her hands were so small. "So they fit perfectly over your heart," she whispered, bringing her hands out of the water to marvel at what they had done. They had touched him, without her permission or understanding. They simply knew where they belonged and acted on their own.

As Bella wiped the sweat from her upper lip, her body shivered at the memory of his fingers touching her mouth, feeling her words as she told him out loud what she had only admitted to herself in silence. She tried to imagine what might have happened if their lips had touched, but couldn't. Bella could not imagine her body more aroused that it already was.

It had been hours since their encounter, but his power over her had not diminished. It had deepened, penetrating from the skin of her arms down to her bones as she lay there on the forest floor. The sensation traveled down her legs to where his thighs had been pressed against her, and up her spine where the feeling lodged in her brain. She played each caress over and over until he owned every part of her, until her hands became his, trailing over her wet skin.

Feeling heavy from the heat of the bath and the weight of her desire, Bella stepped carefully out of the tub. As she reached for her towel, Bella caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped to take in her naked form, glistening in the candlelight. She had never really looked at her body before. She had seen it, many times of course, but had never really looked at it as she felt compelled to do now. In fact, she couldn't take her eyes away. _He loves this body_, she thought. _He loves me._

Bella took in the shape of her legs, the swell of her hips, and the curve of her waist as she watched her smile grow. "I am beautiful," she whispered to herself. "I am beautiful to you." Bella watched the fluidity of her form as she moved closer to the mirror. _That clumsy girl has grown up to become this_, she thought in surprise. _I have become this_.

As she stood directly in front of the mirror, she released the clips from her hair and was mesmerized as she watched it cascade in thick, rich waves of brown down her back and over her breasts.

She ran her hands over her cheeks, chin, and mouth, feeling like she was seeing herself for the very first time as a woman. Perhaps it was because he could not see her today that she felt the need to do this visual appraisal so thoroughly, to take in what he could not, to love herself this way, for him.

"It is for you that I endure. It is for you."

Bella leaned in then and kissed her reflection in the mirror.

"I love you," she whispered to him and herself.

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A/N: I just had to write this scene because I love how being in love with someone makes you feel about yourself. Feeling that awakening for the first time is amazing, don't you think? I hoped to capture a little of that magic here. Let me know if I did or I'll quote that Rod Stewart song and ruin the moment. I know this one is short, but remember Ch. 10 posts tomorrow and it is a long one (at least for me). I want to give a big grab ass and sloppy kiss to GreenEyedGirl17 for recing Spirit to Flesh yesterday and everyone who read and reviewed my story. You guys give me so much joy. I can't explain......xoxoxoxox


	10. Chapter 10 On the Train to Boston

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the glorious and triumphant Jessica1971

A/N: I need to acknowledge here that, for this chapter, I have used words or phrases that I got from the movie The Love Letter. No plagiarism intended; they were just too perfect to leave out. Hope you like….

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

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Chapter 10: On the Train to Boston

Charles had insisted that Bella come with him. That was the only reason she was getting on this train. Bella would never have left her desk – her connection to Edward –voluntarily, but she could not think of an excuse that was compelling enough to stop her father from going. For Charles, the other alternative, leaving her in the house alone for two weeks, was simply out of the question.

After her encounter in the woods with Edward and the letter she received from him the very next morning, Bella had summoned Mr. Newton to the house to deliver her refusal. She had felt both exhilarated and sobered by the disappointed look on Michael's face. In his disapproval, she saw the final door to a conventional existence close to her forever. She knew she would never marry. Neither would Edward. They would be alone together and forever alone. The thought made her proud and frightened by the strength of her own will.

Edward and Bella's repeated attempts to recreate their moment in the woods had all failed, much to their deep disappointment. To compensate, they wrote each other constantly, 2-3 letters a day. Their experience in the woods had freed them both. They were determined to be in each others lives in whatever way time allowed.

For Bella, the sole redeeming activity that would result from going to Boston was that she would finally get to take the picture of herself that Edward had been begging her to send. "I want to kiss you before I go to bed each night and wake up to you smiling at me," he'd written. She could not deny him anything. Edward had promised to send his own picture as soon as he received hers as "an incentive not to back out," he'd said. She'd laughed at his words, pleased by how well he knew her.

Her promise and her father's stubbornness were why she boarded the 11 am train to Boston. Edward had tried to be encouraging when she mentioned her fear that their connection would be severed while she was away.

"Don't worry, love," he had written. "I will love you forever. Even if you never receive another letter from me again, always know that I am here, loving you and only you. Never doubt this. We are eternal."

His words only made her more desperate to stay, to not tempt fate. _What would I do without him?_ she wondered.

Bella barely spoke to her father during the first hour of the trip as she stared out the window, watching all that was familiar to her slip away.

Charles knew that she was upset, but could not imagine that she would have been happier at home alone. He had noticed that she wrote almost continuously since she had rejected Mr. Newton, and presumed she must be struggling with doubts.

_No, she would not have been better at home alone_, Charles told himself. He hoped the change of scenery would lift her spirits.

After an hour of excruciating silence, Charles began to grow restless.

"Bella, would you mind if I retired to the men's lounge for a moment?"

"No," Bella replied. "I think I'll find the dining car and have a cup of tea."

"I could accompany you," Charles offered hopefully.

"No, father. I'll just be reading. You go ahead. I'll be fine."

Charles stared at Bella briefly before nodding once and heading for the nearest porter to instruct him to keep an eye on his daughter. After her father had left, Bella grabbed her book and moved carefully down the aisle. Thankfully, the dining car was not crowded. Bella was in no mood for chatter and noise. The porter showed her to a corner booth, diagonally across from a young man engrossed in his newspaper.

"Good day, miss. What can I get for you this afternoon?"

"Tea, please." Bella's voice met an echo as she and the young man next to her made their identical request at the exact same time.

Their eyes shifted towards the unexpected sound and met.

_Green_. That was her first thought when she took in the man in front of her. Bella blinked to be sure that in fact his eyes were an impossibly beautiful emerald green, set deep behind thick long lashes. They stared back at her, unwavering.

"Good afternoon," he said. His expression was serious, though not intimidating. Although Bella was fairly certain they were similar in age, his voice rang out deeper, smoother than she expected. He looked as if he was in deep thought as his eyes roamed over her face.

"Good afternoon," she replied. When he didn't speak again immediately, Bella tore her eyes away, pretending to read her book. She didn't want to embarrass herself by staring. She could feel her palms become sweaty inside her gloves and removed them carefully under the table before rubbing her hands conspicuously over her dress.

As she returned her hands to the table, Bella heard him clear his throat before saying, "Are you taking your tea alone?"

Bella slid her bookmark in place and closed her book slowly. She wanted to give her heart rate time to slow down so her face would not flush immediately when she met his gaze again.

"Yes," she answered simply just before meeting his gaze and smiling despite herself. His answering smile was devastating. His whole face seemed to light up from within as his full lips curled up and turned slightly to one side to reveal a hint of his white front teeth. She had never seen a beautiful man before. This was a first. All at once, Bella felt she finally understood the concept of "swooning".

He brought a large, graceful hand up to rake back his disarray of hair and let out a short chuckle. "Obviously...I suppose. So am I. Where are you from?"

"Willoughby." Bella had decided not to tax her shaky voice or breathing with multiple word answers.

"I see," he answered, looking down. He seemed to be searching for something to say in the wood of his table. Bella relaxed as she began to understand that perhaps he was as much at a loss as she.

"And you?" she offered, feeling calmed by his brief moment of awkwardness.

"Chicago. I'm from Chicago. Ah...forgive me, I'm sorry to be so rude. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Anthony Masen," he said, nodding slightly with his hand over his heart.

_So this is what the books mean by charm_, Bella thought before responding.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Masen. I'm Isabella Swan."

Anthony leaned forward then and asked in a low voice that was a bit too serious for the question, "Ms. Swan, would you mind if I joined you for tea?"

"No, Mr. Masen, not at all."

Bella watched him as he unfolded from his booth, tall and lean, and slid into the seat directly in front of her. His brown wool suit highlighted the bronze of his hair perfectly and he smelled like sandalwood and vanilla.

"Anthony," he said to her as he set his paper on the table. "My father is Mr. Masen. Please, call me Anthony."

"Alright Anthony, but only if you call me Bella," each of them smiling openly at the other.

"What were you reading?" Bella asked while their tea and scones were being served. "You seemed so engrossed."

"I was following the daily accounts from the war. I plan to join as soon as I'm 18," Anthony explained with obvious enthusiasm.

"Oh," Bella replied as she turned her attention to her tea, trying to hide her sudden disappointment. She had grown up with a father who willingly shared his disdain for war, not as one who sat on the sidelines, but one who had seen its horror first hand. "And when do you turn 18?"

"My birthday is in two months," Anthony said, watching her shift in mood. "You don't approve." When Bella met his gaze, she was surprised to see mirth and playfulness there. His lips twitched with the effort he was expending to suppress his smile. Bella decided then to risk saying what she really thought, out loud, for once.

"I confess I have never understood the male propensity for rushing off to war."

"You think it's ridiculous to want to prove ones self?" he countered with the first inklings of a genuine smile breaking through. Bella found herself slightly confused. Was he goading her on, or did he really want to know what she thought?

"Mr. Ma…Anthony, I'm sure when you asked to join me for tea, you did not expect a debate."

"I'm delighted to say that I did not know what to expect when I asked for the pleasure of your company, but I will try my best to be equal to the challenge before me."

Bella laughed at his characterization of her, and in turn, so did he – a soft, deep, satisfied chuckle. The sound pleased and soothed her in a way that felt vaguely familiar, yet completely unexpected.

"Alright then, since you've asked, I do respect the need to prove ones self, but I think thousands of people do that every day without killing each other." She hesitated for a moment before Anthony leaned forward and waved his hands for her to continue. "I think the tendency to equate efficiency in battle with worthiness is uniquely male."

Bella was aware that this was the most honest she'd ever been with another person, outside of Edward. In the back of her mind, she wondered why she was sharing her true opinions with this beautiful stranger and why it didn't feel like a risk at all to do so.

"Spoken like a woman," Anthony said with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, it is true," Bella said, sticking her chin out slightly. "Spoken like a woman who must prove herself every day without the benefit or opportunity to bear arms."

Anthony nestled back into his seat, looking thoroughly impressed. Her smile could not fit into her teacup.

"You are very kind in your articulation of our male shortcomings. My mother just calls my desire to join the war foolhardy. I have this debate with her almost daily, but I dare say she has never put it quite as eloquently as you."

Bella blushed slightly at the thought of his mother and her having this in common.

"I'm sure you can understand her reluctance. Are you her only son?" Bella asked.

"Her only child," Anthony clarified quietly as he dunked his scone in his tea before finally looking up at Bella in silence for several moments.

"Forgive my boldness. I don't mean to stare, it's just….as soon as you walked in, you looked so familiar to me, and yet I'm sure we have never met. As it stands, I can not reconcile the absolute conviction that I know you with the fact that I do not."

Rather than shrinking from his initial gaze, Bella had found herself meeting it, without shyness or fear. His gaze on her felt natural, though she was vaguely aware that it should have felt penetrating. When he finally spoke, it was as if he had read her very thoughts. She knew him, even though he was a complete stranger to her.

"I don't know," she whispered, "but I feel the same."

Though his eyes did not lose their intensity, he seemed to relax at her words. Before they could speak again, Bella felt the train slow down. Anthony quickly glanced at his pocket watch.

"We're here already?" he mused in disbelief. Anthony rose from his seat with confusion and disappointment clearly written on his face, before he refocused his attention on Bella.

"With your permission, Bella, I would very much like to write to you, when I can." Bella noticed he had extended his right hand to her to help her out of the booth. She stared at it for a moment before reaching her hand up to take it, just as she heard the sound of a very angry Charles bursting into the dining car.

"This is what you call keeping an eye on my daughter?" he hissed at the porter before pushing past him and striding purposefully towards Bella. As he walked towards her, Charles took in the sight of his daughter in the middle of some kind of exchange with a strange young man.

Anthony dropped his hand and moved quickly to the side to give Charles full access to his daughter.

"Bella, there you are. I've been looking all over for you!" Charles glanced over her quickly as he spoke. She seemed to be unharmed.

"Please, father, I'm perfectly well. I've just been here chatting with a fellow traveler." Bella waved her hand in Anthony's direction. "Father, allow me to introduce Mr. Anthony Masen from Chicago."

Anthony extended his hand as Charles took in the young man. He seemed respectable.

"A pleasure to meet you, sir. I am sorry to have worried you."

"No. No trouble at all. Charles Swan, pleased to meet you, son." Charles was about to release his hand before he remembered something. "Masen, did you say? I believe I met your father in the lounge. Lively fellow he is."

"Yes, sir. Yes, he is," Anthony said with a smile.

With no need to use his pistol, Charles turned his attention back to his daughter. "Bella, we'll need to gather our things. We'll be coming up on Boston shortly."

As Bella took her father's hand to leave, she remembered Anthony's request.

"Oh, Mr. Masen," she said with a knowing smile, "I would welcome your correspondence. Best of luck to you in your endeavors."

"I wish you the same," Anthony replied before bidding them a good day and quickly exiting the car.

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A/N: To my awesome beta, Jessica1971, who pimps the hell out of my story everywhere she can and new reader, beowulfgirl, this performance is dedicated to you...1-2-3-4 - insert visual of gyrating hips in gold sequence pants (muffin-top optional) - "If you want my body AND you think I'm sexy, come on baby - let me know......danga doh danga doh danga doh." Hip thrust left! Hip thrust right! All together now...Huugnh!" Translation: Please review, otherwise I'll never get out of these pants!


	11. Chapter 11 Irony

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the unbelievably generous and kind Jessica1971

A/N: I want to take a minute to thank Shawna (aka Cullen312) of the amazing Embodiment and Jessica1971 for making this story sparkle. Over the weekend, they put their heads and talents together to make me the most beautiful banner and blinky. Go check it out on the Spirit to Flesh forum (Thanks Jessica for posting the links and coaching me through the 21st century). The kindness of these women humbles me daily. Thank you for blessing me with your talents.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

* * *

Chapter 11: Irony

Edward had tried to plan every hour of the two weeks that Bella had warned him she would be away, but it still felt like an eternity.

Since he'd broken up with Victoria a month ago, he had a lot more time and energy to dedicate to Bella. He wrote to her several times a day, sharing his life for what felt like the first time. The irony of this sentiment did not escape him. He'd simply stopped questioning whatever it was that brought them together, choosing instead to just be grateful. Sometimes his letters were long and thoughtful, other times he would send her post-its from throughout the day – random notes about whatever he was thinking or doing. She was fascinated by the little pieces of adhesive paper. "You haven't seen anything yet," he told her excitedly. "Just wait. I don't want to ruin it for you." Since 'the woods', as he liked to call it, Edward kept pen and paper with him at all times.

In her absence, his classes had been the only anchor to his sanity. Edward was astonished at how Bella's presence in his life made everything new to him. His students could sense his renewed enthusiasm and responded with greater effort, more questions, and more experimentation. He loved it. He was planning to add an independent study course next year for students ready to write and produce their own symphonies. It was the first offering of its kind in the country.

He was right in the middle of his Composition and Theory class when Sylvia caught his attention. He called for a 15 minute break as he approached her.

"What's up?"

"Esme called. Your 9th grade teacher, Ms. McCarthy, has taken a turn for the worse. Her cancer has metastasized. Esme thought you would want to know. She's in the ICU at Brigham."

"Thank you for telling me." Edward gently squeezed Sylvia's shoulder as she eyed him with concern.

"Are you taping the class? I can stay here if you want to go now?" As a retired musician and opera singer, Sylvia knew enough about music to get through the last 20 minutes of class performance.

"No, no," Edward muttered to himself before refocusing. "The kids have been working really hard on this piece. I'll stay 'til the end, but cancel everything else for me. I don't have anymore classes for the day."

Sylvia nodded as Edward gave her a small smile and returned his attention to his class.

He left the practice room immediately after class, walking straight to his car. As Edward closed his car door behind him, he brought out his notebook and pen from inside his jacket pocket. He would write Bella more thoroughly later. Right now, he just wanted her to know where he was going and why.

_Unexpected development today – will be home late. My old English Lit teacher, Ms. McCarthy, has been sick for awhile and today it looks like it's finally got the best of her. I'm on my way to see her now._

_Who is she to me? They say everyone has that one teacher who finally breaks through – she was that for me. She is the reason I love to read. She taught me to love poetry, respect history, and see art in all the little things people do every day. She helped me understand that being smart wasn't enough, didn't mean that I could coast along. She taught me that it meant the opposite, that I had to work harder to challenge myself – to be the best – because I had it in me. Needless to say, my parents love her to this day – as do I. We've kept in touch, on and off, for 25 years now._

_Anyway, she doesn't have much family, so I want to try to do everything I can for her now. I know you understand._

_If you were here, I'd call you on the phone and tell you I love you and not to wait up._

The ride to the hospital was short, which gave him time to stop by the gift shop and buy flowers before visiting hours were over. As he entered her room, he could smell the acrid odor of death. Even though he'd never thought of becoming a doctor, he'd visited his father thousands of times at the hospital. He knew the smell.

Ms. McCarthy was sleeping heavily while a petite older nurse fluttered around her, checking gauges and saline solutions. "Oh!" she said, startled to see Edward standing at the door, watching her silently. "I didn't know Ginger was expecting any visitors."

"She wasn't, I guess. I just came over when I heard about her condition. I'm Edward Cullen, one of her old students."

The nurse smiled at him warmly. "That's nice. I'm sure she would really appreciate that. She's been in a lot of pain today. I just gave her a pretty strong sedative so I'm sure she won't be up until morning." The nurse took in his disappointed expression and added, "I'm sorry. Look, I know your father will be coming in early to check on her. Why don't I have him give you a call as soon as she wakes up?"

"Ah...thanks. That would be good…thank you. Excuse me, but how do you know who I am?" Carlisle worked primarily at Mass General. To Edward's knowledge, he had never worked at Brigham full-time.

"Honey, as long as your father's been running these halls looking after his patients, everyone knows who you are, plus you look just like him. I've been looking at pictures of you, Emmett, and Alice since you were babies."

Edward smiled sheepishly. "I see. Well…thanks again. I'll just leave these here." Edward placed the pink roses on Ms. McCarthy's night stand before picking off a single bud and handing it to the nurse.

"For you, Nurse Jemma. I'll see you both in the morning."

------

Edward met his father at the hospital at 5:30am the next morning. Having had the chance to go home, Edward came equipped with two large cups of coffee and several volumes of poetry.

Carlisle watched his son as he stepped out of the elevator. He had always been proud of Edward, but this past month the changes he had seen in his son took his breath away. When Edward came to Carlisle to tell him about his break up with Victoria, Edward had seemed almost hesitant, as if expecting reproach. He was genuinely surprised by Carlisle's relief.

_3 Weeks Ago…_

"Son, I understood your reasoning behind the marriage, but that…life with someone you don't feel passionately about, it's just not what I want for you." Carlisle had watched Edward carefully before continuing. "The kids tell me you've found someone else, that you're in love. Is it true?" Carlisle had tried to make his voice sound encouraging.

Edward had chuckled quietly at his father's nickname for Emmett, Jasper, and Alice. They had all grown up together, with his parents long since adopting Jasper in spirit if not in name. "Dad, we haven't been 'the kids' in a long time," Edward paused. "And yes, it is true. I have found someone, but…it's…we can't be together. I can't really talk about it yet and I don't know when I'll be able to, but she is the most important thing to me now. I love her."

Carlisle fell back in his chair as the air rushed from his lungs. He had feared he would go his whole life without ever hearing the tone he now heard in his son's voice, without ever seeing the expression of complete devotion that overshadowed every other feature on his face. How had he missed this and what did Edward mean by "we can't be together"?

_Esme is right_, Carlisle thought. _It's time to retire_. If he could miss his son transform from an overgrown boy to a man right in front of his eyes, he needed to rethink his priorities.

Carlisle knew that Esme knew something. He had always been effortlessly attuned to his wife. He had noticed Esme's knowing smiles towards Edward over the last several months and this gave him comfort. The situation couldn't be all that bad if Esme so obviously approved.

Knowing better than to press his overly private son, Carlisle offered Edward what he knew Edward would value most.

"Son, I can't deny that I'm surprised, but more than that, I am happy for you." Carlisle said as he moved to embrace his son with a broad smile on his face, "Congratulations, Edward. I'm so proud of you."

-------

Edward handed the extra cup of coffee to Carlisle as soon as he was in reach. "I know you probably don't need this," Edward muttered into his own cup.

"Thanks," Carlisle smiled. "Coffee at 5:30 in the morning is never a bad idea."

"How is she?" Edward asked before taking another long drag from his cup.

"She is comfortable, but I fear this is probably her last day with us. She's anxious to see you. As soon as she saw the flowers, she knew you'd been by."

The last remnants of sleep left Edward as he took in his father's words. He nodded his understanding while noticing the new grey hairs hovering around his father's temples. Edward walked towards Ms. McCarthy's room with renewed purpose and urgency.

"Thanks, Dad," he said before giving his father a prolonged hug.

"Of course. I have a few patients here, so I should be around until 11. Page me if you need anything."

Edward had been prepared for her emaciated figure; he'd taken that in last night. Cancer would do that to you, he knew, but he wasn't prepared for the brightness of her smile. The outline of her once full lips strained against her teeth as she unleashed the widest smile he had ever seen. He couldn't stop himself from laughing.

"Well, how are you, gorgeous?" he said, relaxing into the knowledge that there would be no sad goodbyes. Today would be all about making her last few moments as joyful as possible.

Ms. McCarthy let out a laugh that sounded more like a cough. "I'm never taking back that C- you got on your _Iliad_ essay, so stop trying to sweet talk me."

"It was worth a try," he grinned before kissing her lightly on her boney cheek and taking her hand.

"Thank you for the flowers," she said softly. Her voice suddenly sounded exhausted, and Edward realized that she'd probably used up all her energy to prop herself up on her pillow and put on her last brave face.

"You know you deserve them. Here, why don't we get you a little more comfortable so I can show you all the goodies I brought for you today?"

Edward lowered her bed to an almost fully reclined position and pretended not to notice when she pushed the pain medicine dispenser button.

"What have you brought me, my boy?"

"Poetry," he declared, wiggling his eyebrows. Ms. McCarthy managed to chuckle silently before drawing her blankets closer to her.

"All your favorites – Byron, Marrell, Owen, Smith, and, last but not least, Anonymous!" Edward willed his voice to remain light and amusing.

"Sounds thrilling," she sighed, then opened her eyes to look at Edward briefly before adding, "But I think perhaps we have time for only my favorite." Snaking a hand from under her blanket, she pointed to a thin book on her nightstand. Edward put his books down and leaned to within inches of her face. "Of course," he said with a warm smile, "As you wish."

Edward took the book and began reading immediately. He didn't remember much about this poet, though he remembered from class that this was Ms. McCarthy's favorite author. Vaguely, he was aware that Ms. McCarthy must have introduced him to this author in the "pre-getting-his-butt-in-gear" phase of his high school career, when he was more interested in Michael Jordan than paying attention in class. Reading the author's work now, he could appreciate it. The tone of each poem was completely different. Some were strong, passionate, and quick, while others were wistful and hauntingly vulnerable. He guessed that this was done to steer the reader away from conventional assumptions about whether the author was a man or a woman. _Clever_, he thought.

Ms. McCarthy's expression did not change as he read; she simply closed her eyes with a peaceful smile across her face. At one point, when she had stopped fluttering her fingers periodically, Edward feared that she had slipped away while he read.

"Ms. McCarthy?"

"I'm not dead yet, Edward. Keep reading."

Her smile widened as she opened one eye and peered at him, "Though I couldn't think of a more wonderful way for someone like me to go. Your voice is so…lovely," she finished and closed her eyes again with a smile.

"Well, that's all well and good, but give a guy some warning before you go traipsing off to the next plane," he joked.

"I'll do my best."

Edward laughed nervously as he tried to think of something that would keep her talking, keep her with him a little longer.

"Ms. McCarthy, why is this author your favorite, out of all the other writers you know?"

"Maybe it was the mystery," she sighed. "I just always thought her writing was so truthful. There is no pretense. She lays her thoughts, her mind, her soul right there on the page. It was very brave for a woman of her time."

"How did you find out that it was a woman?" he asked, just trying to keep her talking.

"You don't remember?" Ms. McCarthy asked, finally opening her eyes and turning to him slightly. She continued when she met Edward's blank expression. He was only a boy after all, just 13 at the time, but even then she had seen the potential in him.

"You met her. She came to our class your freshman year at Winchester."

"Really?" Edward closed the book over his index finger to keep his place while leaning forward. "I don't remember that at all."

"I guess not," she chuckled. "That was your first semester. It took me until your second to knock some sense into you.

"I'd been writing her publisher for over a year once I discovered her work, just to see if she was still alive. When they told me she was, I asked if she would mind coming to the school to do a reading. She only agreed to come to my class, my freshman class, which I thought was a little strange at the time, but you know how writers are. Plus, I really didn't care. I just felt so…honored that she was coming at all," she said reverently.

"The day she came, I couldn't believe it. Up until then, I didn't know she was a woman. I didn't know that she was so old." Ms. McCarthy laughed at the irony of her old eyes now looking back on the perspective of her younger self. Ms. McCarthy's laughed died down as she paused.

"Go on," Edward encouraged, trying to be with her and remember what she remembered.

"I just recall being so excited," she continued. "She read from that very book. Her publisher had just printed a collection of her favorite poems and a selection of new ones she had never released, and she gave it to me. It wasn't even out yet.

"That book has my favorite poem in it. It's the only love poem she ever released, though I'm told she had hundreds stored away." Edward noticed that her voice, though weak, took on a dream like quality as she told the story. He was glad that he had asked her about it. Telling the story seemed to make her so happy.

"Read it to me now, Edward...please. It's at the end, page 54."

Edward smiled as he opened the book in his hands, happy that he could do this one last thing for her.

As he found the page, his eyes glanced over the first line and stopped.

He knew the poem. He knew it by heart.

Edward dropped the book on the floor, but Ms. McCarthy didn't seem to notice.

He could not organize his thoughts as his mind went silent.

She had been in his class when he was 13. She had known who he was. He had known nothing. He couldn't even remember it, couldn't remember her.

"Oh, God," he whispered. Feeling sick to his stomach, he cast his wide eyes to the floor to steady himself and saw the inscription that was written in exquisite handwriting on the inside of the front cover.

_To the holder of this book,_

_you have given me my most precious possession._

_I am yours as_

_you are mine_

_- Bella_

Edward blinked several times before his eyes began darting around the room, looking for a woman who no longer existed. It was as if she had reached out from the grave and touched him, spoke to him directly.

Crushing grief overwhelmed him as he realized the opportunity she had taken, the one he had unwittingly squandered. The words of her poem, their poem, haunting him in its full meaning.

"Edward, please now. Read it to me now."

Somehow the whisper of her ragged voice broke through the chaos in his mind. He closed his eyes and spoke through the tears welling and breaking through.

_It is for you that I endure_

_It is for you I linger on_

_With hope I clutch_

_With feeble hands_

_To chance, to fate_

_to love_

_It is for you my tears flow ceaseless_

_It is for you this heart still beats _

_It is for you my feet more forward _

_Though my mind stays forever behind_

_It is for you that I tempt fate and time_

_Determined to find the way_

_It is for you that I seek mercy _

_from the devil or the gods_

_It is for you that life renews_

_Bringing life to light _

_Like ours_

Ms. McCarthy's smile grew wider, oblivious to his shaking as she sighed in appreciation.

"Yes. Yes. That is exactly how she read it. You know, she shook your hand as you left the classroom. She even introduced herself. That's how I found out her name. For one moment, you actually looked up from your sports magazine and she looked straight at you and said 'Hello, Edward. I'm Bella. Bella Swan. It is so good to meet you.' It was the oddest thing."

The room began to swim as Edward felt himself losing his grip on the room, this place, his sanity. He needed to leave so that he could go somewhere and scream and find her and tell her that he was stupid and 13 and didn't know that the most important moment of his life was behind him and he couldn't even remember it.

He heard something scrape across the floor and realized it was his chair, and somehow he was standing. He wasn't sure how long he'd been upright or how long it had been from the time he finished reciting the poem, to the time when Ms. McCarthy had spoken again, to now as her eyes suddenly opened.

"Warning…warning," she whispered as her eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling.

Edward jumped back in shock as understanding came to him immediately. Recovering quickly, Edward dropped to his knees and grabbed her hand selfishly, desperately stealing her last breath.

"Tell her I love her, that I'm sorry that I didn't know. Please tell her that I love her," he begged into Ms. McCarthy's ear, hoping that his words would translate wherever she was going.

"I will," she said as pure wonder stretched across her face.

"I will," she breathed once more, and was gone.

As his tears began to fall uncontrollably, he knew he was lost. He rose from the floor only because his body remembered the physiological connections that made the act possible. As Edward's mind shut down, his body took over, doing what it needed to do to take care of itself. He could feel the air moving across his face as he ran. He took the stairs, his instincts telling him he could not be trusted in a confined space with others.

The nurses all assumed his screams were related to the woman that lay dead in Room 502.

* * *

A/N: Peeks out from behind couch…Did you know that reviewing reduces angst? It's true… really, I just made it up. Okay, who needs a hug? Who wants to gouge my eyes out? All are welcome on the Spirit to Flesh forum (link on my profile) or you could let it all out by pressing the little button just below this message.


	12. Chapter 12 Last Chance

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the infallible Jessica1971

A/N: A great big bear hug to everyone who read and reviewed Ch.11. Each one of you made my day better and better. I also need to plant some seriously sloppy kisses and leg humps on bellasunderstudy1 for giving the most awesome reviews AND rec'ing my story in her latest update of the sumptuous tale Make Me Believe. You guys leave me speechless.....

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

* * *

Chapter 12: Last Chance

Edward burst through his front door, his voice hoarse from yelling, his hands raw from alternately wringing and punching the steering wheel.

"Bella," he called out with what was left of his voice. "Bella, please…please be there."

As Edward grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and sat down, he felt instantly calmer, or perhaps just less crazed. _Yes_, he thought. He knew their connection was still there.

His writing was incoherent, half-sentences blurred through the stream of his tears, but he was not worried. Edward knew that when she got his letter, she would know the meaning behind whatever he managed to get on paper. He tried to tell her everything that happened, how utterly destroyed he was at having missed their one chance, with the few broken words he had in his mind. His efforts were a poor substitute for lucidity, for a logical narrative, for even a fraction of what he felt. He was still acting on instinct. He could only do what was necessary. Finally, unable to continue with a coherent thought beyond why, he wrote:

_What does this mean - tell me, Bella? How can it be that I touched you before I even loved you? How can it be that you are not here now, when I need you, when I love you so much I can not find the words for this pain I feel - always in your absence? Fate can not be this cruel._

_Tell me what to do. Tell me how to be where you are. We can not be forever longing._

He forgot to sign the letter. That was unnecessary. Bella would know.

He walked out the door to find his car still running with the door open in his driveway. He questioned the prudence of getting behind the wheel for only a moment before jumping in. His body had gotten him this far. He would trust it the rest of the way. He knew the drive to Manhasset Post Office by heart. He was sure he could get himself there and that was all the plan he needed.

The smoke coming from the far end of the street caught him off guard. It didn't register until he was parked that it was the post office that was on fire. Understanding the urgency, his body went into immediate action, sprinting forward towards the smoke and the flames. He managed to elude the first group of firemen that tried to apprehend him, but was not quick enough to dodge the second group and avoid tripping over the tangle of water hoses.

Edward felt himself float as they picked him up and carried him backwards, away from her. Though his mouth was open wide and moving, he registered no sound; his eyes, though burning, were tearless. Only his arms and legs knew what to do as they kicked and punched at their captors. Hard concrete met his back sharply as they threw him on the ground and ordered him to stay put. The fall should have knocked the wind out of him. Perhaps that's why they felt comfortable enough to turn their backs and leave him on the sidewalk.

But, for Edward, air was not necessary right now. What he needed was to get into the post office and deliver his letter, his last letter, safely to her.

_Did I tell her I loved her?_ he asked himself. _Yes, she knows_. He was suddenly overjoyed that he had sent Sylvia's snapshot of him by the piano last week as a surprise. The irrational euphoria carried him to his feet, pushing him towards the back entrance of the post office that he had discovered late one night on his way back from delivering a letter.

Edward kicked the door open easily, sneaking past the chaos and onlookers. The black smoke enveloped him as soon as he stepped inside. He was glad that he didn't need to see. He knew this place thoroughly, having spent many nights wandering through the halls, contemplating how this physical building could act as a portal to the past.

He darted up the stairs holding his breath. The deposit box was on the main level to the right. He was almost there.

As he turned the corner, he was met with a floor beam blazing across the hallway to the deposit box. Backing up for a running start, he cleared it easily. But as he landed, his lungs took in the smoke and he began choking on the ash.

"Just a few more feet," he commanded himself. "Don't black out!"

His hand pulled the letter from his back pocket just as embers from the ceiling began to sprinkle down on him. Quickly, he tucked the letter into his jacket to protect it. He didn't notice the singe to his ears and neck.

As he reached the deposit box and pulled his hand from inside his jacket, he felt the floor beneath him tremble as the ceiling above began to give way. The last thing he remembered before feeling the weight of the floorboards hit his shoulders was the sensation of the letter slipping from his hand.

* * *

A/N: Am I evil? Will Bella get the letter or will it burn, burn, burn in the fire? And what will become of our poor Edward? I'll update on Friday, but you can flame me today. Jump in, I'll love you. Okay, enough teasing - breathe, I promise it will get better....


	13. Chapter 13 Ashes

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the magnificent Jessica1971

A/N: Surprise! You've been waiting for some answers. I hope this is a start. To everyone who read and reviewed yesterday, this early post is just our way of giving the love right back to you. We had over 30 reviews and 180+ readers yesterday! That's just incredible.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

* * *

Chapter 13: Ashes

_So sad_, Tamara thought as she secured the oxygen mask to Edward's head.

"He's cute, too." Three years as an EMT had taught her to deal with crazies, but they were rarely ever so good-looking.

On the gurney, Edward was becoming vaguely aware of a bright light nearby, pressure on his face and a shooting pain in his left shoulder that let him know he was still alive.

"Who runs into a burning building to mail a letter?" Tamara wondered aloud.

Tamara's question brought his consciousness into focus. His eyes shot open, moments before his hands tried to reach up to shield them from the light. They were restrained at the wrists. He wondered why.

"Where is my letter?" Edward demanded while fighting valiantly against his restraints. "I need to mail my letter!

"Please," he added after adjusting to the light enough to take in the frightened look of the woman standing over him.

Tamara shook her head in sympathy and reached for a long syringe before answering the beautiful lunatic laid out before her. _What a waste_, she thought.

"Oh, you mailed your letter, sir. The fireman that fished you out of the rubble saw you do it, but it's gone now. The whole building collapsed." As if to end the conversation, Tamara pushed the morphine into the vein at the crease of his arm.

Edward lowered his head as the drug began to take effect. "She got it," he said softly. "She'll get it. I have faith."

"Uh huh," Tamara replied, noting that she needed to tell the attending physician that this guy needed a full psych evaluation before being released.

"I have faith," Edward murmured once more before drifting off to sleep.

------

He woke again to the feel of hands running smoothly over the edges of his matted hair. He turned toward the familiar sensation.

Esme leaned down and kissed her son's temple. "I'm so sorry, Edward. My God, I'm so sorry."

Meeting her gaze, he whispered. "I need to go home. I need to see if she got the letter."

"Can you tell me what happened?" As Esme took in her son, she was pleased to see he appeared calm, lucid.

"Yes, but not now. I need to go home. How long have I been here?" Edward's attempts to sit up were halted by a searing pain in his left shoulder.

"Wait, just wait. I'll get your father." Edward opened his mouth to protest, but Esme cut him off with a firm hand on his chest. "You won't have to explain. I just need to make sure you're alright to go home. It's been 2 days. You've been in and out of consciousness." Esme hesitated before adding, "We had to get a private room. You've been screaming, a bit."

Esme smiled at him then, a tight knowing smile that said she thought she understood. He knew she didn't and was glad. He hoped no one ever felt the way he did now. Edward nodded his agreement.

With his father's help, he was discharged in an hour with a sling over his shoulder for his cracked shoulder blade, a week's supply of pain killers, and a number to the hospital social worker just in case he wanted 'to talk'. Despite his mood, or perhaps because of it, Edward smiled back at the discharge nurse. _Talking_, he thought, _would only get me committed_.

Esme was quiet as she drove her son home. She had heard all about his erratic behavior from the EMT staff when she arrived with Emmett and Alice, who stared in disbelief as the EMT described a man they didn't know. Carlisle arrived with Jasper 30 minutes later, still in scrubs and tired from 12 hours of surgery. Esme was able to piece together what the ER staff hadn't explained from the nurses at Brigham and the contents of his screams over the last 36 hours. She knew instinctively that the reason he had run out of the hospital room at Brigham had nothing to do with Ms. McCarthy's death. This was confirmed when the hospital released Ms. McCarthy's belongings and she saw the inscription on a thin book of poems.

_Dear God!_ she'd thought at the time. _You could not be this cruel._

Esme glanced over to her son and noted that she could not tell if he was fighting to go to sleep or to stay awake. Reluctantly, she wondered which option was worse. Her youngest son had always been such a careful person, thinking things through thoroughly before carrying out any course of action. She knew what it would take to drive him into a burning building and fought down her own regret that she had ever suggested writing Bella back. _I can beat myself up later_, she thought, glancing again at her son. _Right now, I need to focus._

"Edward, you need to eat. Is there anything at your house that I can make you?"

"Yes," he said simply. His eyes were finally closed, but he was fully awake. Esme could tell.

"Do you… do you think she got the letter?" Esme's voice was low and tentative. She didn't want to make his pain any worse if she could help it.

"I have to believe that. I can't handle the alternative right now."

When they arrived home, Esme watched her son from the front door for a long time. He'd gone straight to his desk and released the secret door that held his connection to a love and fate she could not fathom. The idea that this secret compartment had been the source of all his recent joy and pain was inconceivable to her, and yet it was no less true.

He pulled three letters from the desk, but only opened one. It was slightly thicker than the others, she could tell as she inched her way into the house. _Incredible_, she thought. _Simply incredible_.

She saw his shoulders fall as he exhaled heavily before opening the envelope carefully and placing it face up on the desk. From over Edward's right shoulder, she read the envelope's inscription:

_To: Edward Carlisle Cullen_

_from_

_Isabella Marie Swan_

_~ In Memoriam~_

It was then that Esme noticed her son's hands were shaking. Edward did not read the letter aloud. She didn't expect him to, but he held it up as he read, knowing she was behind him. _Probably so he won't have to explain later_, she thought. He simply put the pages down on the far right side of the desk as he read them, face up for her to see.

_My Love,_

_I have received your letters. Letters that I now believe were from the final days of your life. I cherish them now as my most prized possessions, besides your heart, which now beats in me for the both of us._

_I could not stop myself from writing this, though I have tried. What is one more leap of faith out of all the leaps we have taken? I suppose I just needed to memorialize your passing from this earth, from my world and yours._

_It seems appropriate that it should end the way it began, with a simple letter from me. I know now that God has truly smiled on us and that He will carry my words to you in whatever way is necessary for you to know them._

_Have no regrets, my love, for we share a common flaw. I would not have had the strength to write this if you had not left me such perfect instructions, a way forward to find you. The very thought of touching your hand! Us in the same space – the same time once more. For I, too, have squandered a chance meeting, only to find later that fate has stolen you from me twice. As I stare at your picture now, I am haunted by the knowledge that I sat right across from you in the dining car, on the train to Boston. I spoke with you for 52 blessed minutes and did not know you, did not touch you. I wonder how it is possible to know you so completely in spirit and yet pass you completely by in the flesh. A flesh that, as I received word today, has been consumed in my world by influenza. My heart aches knowing that you did find your way to me, only for me to fail you, fail us. There is nothing in this world too precious to sell to have those moments with you back, to be strong enough to hold you to me, so you could not slip away._

_With your picture here with me and our future so clearly laid out, I am comforted from my failure with the certainty that I will someday find you. Until then, know that your pain will be no greater than mine, that my love will ever be a perfect reflection of yours. Your longing will always be matched with mine to keep it company, and all this I will endure for the chance to meet you for the first time again._

_Always,_

_Bella_

Edward was silent as Esme put down the last page, his reflection in the window finally bringing her own tears forth. His eyes were shining with his own unshed tears. His face was a drawn mixture of horror and sadness. He looked like he was watching the end of the world.

Esme quickly gathered up the pages of the letter, planning to stuff them back into the envelope to somehow reverse the suffering they had released into the room. As she opened the envelope, Esme noticed a stiff piece of paper with a smooth surface tucked inside. Esme knew what it was before she pulled the photograph out of the envelope, realizing that Edward missed it in his haste to read her letter. Esme read the note on the back before turning it over.

_So you will know my flesh_

_when our spirits meet again_

Esme gasped as she turned the photograph over to see a beautiful petite woman staring back at her with flowers in her hands. Though the smile on the young woman's face was slight, her eyes burned with intense happiness and love.

Esme placed her hand lightly on Edward's shoulder and met his gaze in the window. His eyes fell immediately to the rectangular piece of paper that was pressed to her chest.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered as she handed him the photograph. "I'm so sorry."

As Edward turned to face his mother, confusion clouded his expression, but he knew what it was that she held out to him the moment the paper touched his skin.

His eyes stared in wonder at the sight of her, the woman he had dreamt of and loved. The lines of her body immediately aligned with his memory of her from the woods. And, just as he had suspected, she was astonishingly beautiful. Edward smiled softly to himself as he took in the fact that the poor technology of the time could not diminish the cream of her skin, the life in her eyes, and the luster of her hair. His thoughts traced back as he focused again on her eyes .

"The life in her eyes," he murmured. Life that he knew he would never see again.

His face crumpled as he buried his head in his mother's waist and cried.

* * *

A/N: I have nothing smart or funny to say today. If anyone needs a hug, I'll be over at the Spirit to Flesh forum (link is on my profile page). Thank you for weathering a VERY tough week with me and this story. It'll be alright. I promise. Ch. 14 posts tomorrow.


	14. Chapter 14 Return

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the visionary Jessica1971

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

* * *

Chapter 14: Return

Edward took a month off – from work, from life, from everything. He had hoped to pull himself together after a week or so, but he couldn't manage it. He couldn't manage much of anything at first.

It took him three days to shower after Esme left the morning after he had come back from the hospital. He did not take the pain killers for his shoulder, but not to be masochistic. Edward truly believed that he had and would suffer enough pain. Rather, he found the pain a welcome distraction from the hollow numbness that was growing inside him.

He stayed away from his piano, at first because he didn't want to hear the sound that would come out if he played. Later, as his despair grew, he didn't want to break the instrument if it was incapable of expressing the pain he felt. _I don't think there is a series of notes low enough for this_, he'd thought when his mother suggested that he play in lieu of talking. He had simply sighed into the phone in response. Esme knew he wasn't really listening.

The only consistent thing Edward did for 2 weeks was read Bella's letters. It was the only thing that marked the passing of time, the changing shadows on the bed or couch as he read her every word over and over again. By the end of the second week, he had ordered everything she had ever written and had it delivered to his house the next day. He was proud to find that her poetry was well respected and prized highly by a few rare book collectors.

It was in reading her work that he found the strength he needed to return to the life he had left. Ms. McCarthy had been right in her description of Bella's work. She delved bravely into every subject she took on – feminism, religion, war, poverty, fashion, elitism, travel, politics, racism, science, philosophy. She brought a careful and nuanced viewpoint to each subject, sharing her own thoughts and doubts freely. She even published a study on the function of indifference in evolution, using her cat Agnes as a primary reference.

She was funny. She was razor sharp. She was bare and raw. She was fearless.

The only subject she never wrote about was love. When asked about this once in an interview, she simply said, "The one who matters knows why." And he did. He was as sacred to her as she was to him. For that type of worship, absolute privacy was necessary. She never published a single love poem until her last book, a small selection of her favorite works. On the last page, she had conceded to publish the only love poem she ever released with one stipulation – that the book be released after her death – which was one week after her appearance at Winchester School, one week after the day she met Edward.

_She held on for me_, he thought in amazement. _Just as she promised._

Looking over all she had accomplished, he marveled at how she had been able to turn what had happened to them into a force to live by, something to propel her forward.

_At least she had the future to look forward to_, he thought, _our last chance_. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he was wrong. She had not merely passed the time waiting. She had lived. She had emptied herself out and opened herself up to whatever was there for her to experience. He resolved to do the same.

He spent his last week at home rescheduling appointments, catching up on paperwork, and composing. He wrote a new symphony in two days, staying up half the night, improvising, and experimenting until he had finally written an ending that was worthy of her.

Edward could hear the difference in his playing. He was a different man. His relationship to the keys on his piano became more primal, even more instinctual. He played now with a depth and passion that he didn't have before.

When he stepped back into his office, 4 weeks and 1 day after he had left to visit Ms. McCarthy in the hospital, Sylvia was waiting for him with a big smile and an even bigger stack of appointments and messages. "Welcome back, Edward," she grinned, reaching behind his neck to pull his head down for a kiss on his forehead.

Edward smiled at the comfort of the familiar gesture. "Thanks, Sylvia. Come on, I've got chocolate croissants and coffee. Let's get this show on the road."

* * *

A/N: Just keep swimming.....just keep swimming...It'll be alright....especially if you review. Thanks again to everyone who is reading, reviewing, asking questions and rec'ing this story. I can't express the gift that each of you are to me. I hope you have a wonderful and safe weekend.

The Spirit to Flesh forecast for next week is looking pretty good. I think you might even be able to put your tissue away. :-)


	15. Chapter 15 Forever Longing

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the simply awesome Jessica1971

A/N: This is the final chapter with 1 Epilogue to go. I hope it makes you happy. But before you jump in, I wanted to take a moment to thank EVERY SINGLE PERSON who has read, rec'd, reviewed, lurked and enjoyed this story. When I first started writing this, I didn't really think that anyone would read it. I just planned to put it out there. I didn't know anyone in the fandom besides 2 people that I PM'd occasionally, Jessica1971 and Elizabethan. Writing this story was pure joy, but I could not anticipate what it felt like to get your reviews and support. It has been so deeply, truly wonderful for me. To Jessica1971, there really are no words to thank you. You have opened every door for me, without any reason beyond your immeasurable generosity. I am so proud that you chose to be my beta. Liz – because of you I have a place to talk with the people who love this story as much as I do. Thank you for starting the StF thread and being excited for me from the very first word of this story. To Cullen 312, thank you for my banner, blinky and rec'ing the hell out of my story, not once, but TWICE. It is a pleasure to be in your fine company. Bellasunderstudy1, kstabb100, and Jen328, with each kind word you wrote, you made me feel like a writer - thank you. And last, but not least, to my husband, who was so excited for me even though he doesn't give a damn about Twilight and slept alone without complaint so that I could get this story to you. You make me a believer everyday.

I know that was long, but it was necessary. :-) Each person I mentioned made this journey so sweet. I thank all of you for being a part of this little dream come true.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

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Chapter 15: Forever Longing

It was even better than he'd imagined. The piano was dream like, while still being grounded in their truth. The woodwinds section was a soft beckoning, like her thick hair in the breeze. But it was the violins that made him turn around before his students could see his tears. They were playing his thoughts, hands reaching but never grasping the object of their desire.

"That was… better than not bad," he managed to tease after the student orchestra had finished the first movement. "Did you guys even leave the building last night?" He hoped his voice sounded light and joking.

His students beamed back at him, joking amongst themselves. "Barely," Jacob laughed. "Hell, we only have like three weeks left 'til the concert."

------

The students had surprised him by selecting his new symphony for the closing number of the Mid-Summer Nights benefit concert. A week ago, Jacob and a few other students from the orchestra had snuck into the practice room while Edward was playing the final movement alone. Since he had not heard them enter, the sudden applause when he finished startled him.

"What the hell was that?" Jacob Black had asked. Edward smiled and shook his head. Jacob looked like he belonged to a biker gang rather than a school of music, but he was the best oboe player Edward had ever heard; that, combined with his natural irreverence towards everything, made Jacob one of Edward's favorite students.

"Just something I wrote….recently."

"Dude, we need to add that to the list for the summer concert. That kicks ass."

"Jacob, you guys already have enough music for the concert that you aren't playing very well. I'd hate to see you fall any farther from grace," Edward replied with a smirk.

"Whatever, man, you know we're up to this. Besides, that other stuff is tired. Everyone does Beethoven."

"Yes, but not everyone does Beethoven well. Besides, you guys voted on what pieces you wanted to play."

"Ah… I didn't vote for any of that shit we're playing. Personally, I thought we should have done a Prince retrospective, but anyway…. Hey, you don't get a vote, right? So all I need to do is round up the troops and we can play what you just did. Have you finished it yet? I mean, is it ready?"

Edward wasn't sure how he felt about sharing this piece of himself with the world. He had recorded and conducted a number of his compositions around the world, but nothing like this, nothing this personal.

"It's ready. I'm just not sure that I am," he answered honestly.

Angela stepped out from behind Jacob, "It's really beautiful, Dr. Cullen. You can trust us with it. We won't let you down."

Edward looked between the faces of his students, reading their expressions of confusion and growing concern. They had never seen him express doubt before.

"It's not that, Angela." Edward paused for a moment and took a deep breath. _Fearless_, he thought.

"Alright, I'll make you a deal. If you guys select it, you can have it. But I'm warning you now, she's brand new, so I'm going to make sure you guys give her the introduction she deserves." He rose from the piano bench and gave each student his patented 'I'm not kidding' stare. Everyone but Jacob looked appropriately sobered. Jacob just grinned, rubbing his hands together before heading out the door. Just before he cleared the doorway, Jacob turned back abruptly.

"Hey, what's it called?" he asked.

Edward swallowed loudly before answering.

"Forever Longing."

Jacob's grin only widened as he ran down the hall.

-------

Listening to them now, Edward was glad he had opened up and taken the risk.

_We sound beautiful, Bella. I wish you could hear this._

When they had finished the 2nd movement, Edward decided to send them home. "Alright guys, let's clear out. Go home. Rest up. It's starting to smell a little ripe in here, even for you, Mr. Black."

Jacob raised his right arm, put his nose to his armpit, and then inhaled loudly. Edward could hear several members of the class gag in mock disgust.

"Ah, yeah," he pronounced proudly while slinging his oboe case over his shoulder. "Ripe isn't even the half of it." He winked at the girl blushing furiously in front of him before sauntering out of class.

Sylvia caught up with Edward just as he was locking the practice room for the night. "It's sounding pretty good already," she said a little too enthusiastically.

"Alright, Sylvia. I know when I'm being buttered up. Just tell me so I can say no."

"Well, you can't say no, so just suck it up. I've scheduled your annual pow-wow with the Globe's art section for tomorrow at 3pm, so – don't give me that look – you can enjoy most of your birthday before the interview."

Edward deepened his scowl before leaning in and giving Sylvia a hug. Nothing could ruin the first good day he'd had in a long time.

-------

Jasper shook his head as he got a good look at his brother-in-law's untamed head walking across the university common.

"Well, Happy Birthday! You look like you're channeling Beethoven, but in a bad way."

"Thanks. I feel like a crazy bastard, so I might as well look the part. I brought Agnes along to be the bite to my bark. I've got an interview with the Globe today, and I'm hoping Agnes here will scare them off." Edward chuckled to himself, only half joking.

"Well, good luck with that," Jasper nodded before turning his attention to the tawny colored dog nudging his leg.

"Tell me again why you named this beautiful animal Agnes?"

"It's in honor of my favorite writer," Edward replied, smiling down at his 2 month old Ridgeback/German Sheppard mix pound puppy.

"Whose name is…?"

"Not Agnes," Edward finished.

"Right," Jasper sighed in acknowledgement of yet another failed attempt to get Edward to talk about his 'mystery woman'. "Now it all makes sense to me.

"Well, again, good luck with the intimidation. I don't think you'll need Agnes, though. I hear you're pretty awful all on your own," Jasper said, jabbing Edward in the arm before heading off to teach his first class.

On Tuesdays, Edward had classes all morning and loved it. The time passed quickly and he found the students who took classes over the summer to be surprisingly engaged and focused.

The afternoon practice session for the summer concert was going particularly well. Edward felt so grateful for all the effort he could hear in every note. They could not know the gift they were giving him or how much it healed him to hear them tell his story – their story.

"One more time, from the top, just so I know I'm not dreaming here. This is almost too good to be true," Edward said.

"Aaah…Edward," Sylvia interrupted. "Your 3 o'clock appointment has been waiting for 30 minutes now."

"They can wait or cancel," Edward said with his back to the door. "I can't interrupt genius for anyone. This may be as good as it gets for me."

And he meant it, though it didn't hurt as much as he thought it might to admit it out loud. Edward smiled at the realization. _Yeah, _he thought_. It'll be fine. She did it for me. I can do this for her._

"It's alright. I can wait," a small voice said from behind him. He barely made out the words, but was disappointed that they seemed agreeable.

He nodded and the orchestra began again, ringing clear and strong, passion and precision filling the room and resuscitating an echo of his heart with each note. Closing his eyes, he whispered, "I hope you can hear this, love. I wrote it for you."

Edward was lost in the music, in her. Unconsciously, he reached for his wallet, fingering the leather that held his most precious thing - the one and only picture of her he had.

As the ending came to a crescendo, he felt lighter and strangely warmed by the outward expression of their love. For some reason, it didn't make him sad today. _I've got to bring Agnes to work with me more often_, he thought.

As the last notes played, he dropped his hands and smiled at his students, bowing towards them with his hands over his heart. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you."

The students grinned as they filed out silently, basking in their instructor's rare approval. Even Jacob was silent, choosing instead to nod his thanks to Edward before quietly slipping out of the room.

As the room cleared, Edward was lost in his own thoughts as he gathered up his notes. He was looking forward to the walk home.

"That was breathtaking," a quiet voice uttered from behind him. He vaguely remembered the voice from 40 minutes ago. Irritation crept in as he felt the perfect ending to only the second good day he'd had in months slip away. He dug into his briefcase, ignoring her.

"Do you play an instrument?" he asked finally, while keeping the '_otherwise, how the hell would you know?_' to himself.

"No, but I love classical music, and I listened to some of your recordings on the way over. I mean, it doesn't do it justice. You really have to hear it live."

_Okay, maybe you're not an idiot_, Edward conceded silently.

"Well, I'm glad you found it worth your time; I know you've been waiting awhile."

Edward was beginning to feel like an ass so he ducked down behind the piano with his briefcase to hide his remorse. He needed to keep up his grouchy persona in hopes of warding off next year's interview. He'd worked hard to avoid interviews with people who wanted to know his opinion on Britney Spears as a musician.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm a patient person, plus I was prepared for you to avoid me." He could hear the smirk in her voice and tried not to laugh as he dug deeper in his bag for nothing in particular.

"But I've come a long way for you, so I'm not leaving until you see me."

Her tone stopped him cold before her words even registered. It was quiet, but confident, deep and ancient. It was dead serious. The same, but completely different from the voice he'd been hearing. He rose slowly from his crouch behind the piano.

That voice. What was it that made his hands tremble? Hadn't he been holding a notebook in his right hand? Why were his notes scattered all over the floor in front of him? Why, he wondered, was he frozen in place?

Edward began to turn his head towards the sounds that were coming again from behind him.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry. I don't know why I said that. I…I…"

She was moving now, turned around and obstructing his view of her face behind a curtain of deep mahogany. From the beautiful shade of pink that was rising from her neck, he could tell that she was flushed, apparently embarrassed by her outburst. Delicate hands moved quickly from her face to the sides of her skirt, then finally to her belongings on the chair beside her.

What had stopped time for him had apparently set her in motion as she grabbed her coat only to drop her bag, spilling its contents onto the floor.

Her hand flew up to her face, pushing the curtain aside briefly to reveal her profile.

_Cream,_ he thought. _Cream and roses_. His breath caught in his throat.

His feet moved forward, carrying him to her. He needed no effort. His body, his heart, his spirit knew who she was. His mind just didn't know how.

She continued to flutter around, alternately grabbing the loose contents of her purse from the floor, pushing her hair out of her face with one hand, and then shifting to cover it with the other.

_She doesn't know_, he thought. _She isn't sure_. _How can I make her stop moving before our time has passed?_

He was close enough now to where she was hunched over to hear her muttering insults to herself softly. His hand reached out to hover over her right shoulder.

_It can't be_, he thought, in a vain effort to hold on to the small peace he had found these past few days. _This can not be_. But his heart did not believe his thoughts. His body would not cooperate with reason. He closed the distance between them just as he found his voice.

"Bella," he whispered. It was not a question. It was a gamble. If he was wrong, all that was left of him would be lost.

Her movements ceased, finally bringing her into his time, his world. As she rose and turned, their eyes met for the first time again.

His eyes were a fiery emerald green.

Her eyes were a wet chocolate brown.

Their lips mirrored each others as a slow smile crept across both of their faces.

When he heard her voice again, a tear streaked down his face.

"How did you know to call me Bella?" she asked simply. There was no suspicion in her voice, only a mild curiosity, as if she was asking for the time with no particular place to be.

He swallowed loudly, not out of anxiety, but out of overwhelming emotion. He wasn't sure if he could speak loud enough for her to hear him.

"I don't know," he whispered. It was true. He didn't know how he recognized a voice he had never heard before.

"Everyone calls me Izzy, but I prefer Bella," she answered slowly, staring at him in wonder.

"I'm Edward," he said, reaching out his open hand to her.

"I know," she replied, her smile growing as she looked down to see her hand being enclosed in his.

* * *

A/N: Lemonade...that cool, refreshing drink! Want some? I know you do. It's coming up next… I hope it's worth the wait. Thanks for reading ;-)


	16. Chapter 16 Epilogue

Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the supercalifragilistic expialidocious Jessica1971

A/N: And now...a nice cold glass of lemonade....

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

* * *

Chapter 16: Epilogue

5 days later…..

"Don't go."

Even though he couldn't see her face, Edward could tell from the turn of her head that she was looking around for the clock.

He pulled her closer to him, shivering with the realization that this was her body pressed against him - naked, soft, and so warm. His hand found his way from her stomach to her breasts, kneading them greedily, trying to fit them both into the palm of his hand.

"Oooh…," she moaned before finding the focus to ask, "What time is it?"

Bella hated to break the sweet silence between them, but work, the world outside his door, was beginning to press around the edges of the cocoon they had been building slowly over the past five days.

She reached her hand back to grab his ass and hold him to her. Her legs bent forward instinctively, giving him access to her if he wanted it.

In response, Edward tightened his hold on her. She could feel that he was already hard. Bella let out another moan into the space around them while pushing her hips further back as her chest pushed forward, silently pleading for him to take her, touch her….anything he wanted.

She wondered how she had become this woman in five days, so wanton and bold, confident and knowing. She had never been this way before him, yet somehow she knew she would never be any other way again.

"It doesn't matter what time it is. Don't go," he whispered. His voice was husky, needy, and raw. He had no need for defenses. He couldn't waste the time. He would beg her to stay if he needed to; it wouldn't bother him at all. In fact, the thought turned him on.

"Please, baby, be with me," he said as he felt her bottom push into him again.

"Yes, baby, please."

Edward shifted his arms so he could continue to tease her nipples with his left hand while holding her hips steady with his right, readying himself to push into her from behind.

Bella had opened herself to him, exposing the wetness that dripped from her center to her thighs. She was slippery. _Juicy,_ he thought as he squeezed her breasts tightly and slipped inside.

They both let out a deep groan as he began moving inside her. Her hands traced the movement of his fingers over her breasts before moving down her stomach to her thigh where his grip pulsed with each smooth, slow thrust of his hips. She wanted to feel what he felt, love what he loved. She felt amazing.

_Have my breasts always been this soft?_ she wondered. _Has the weight of them always felt this good, or have they changed because of him?_ Her skin felt luxurious under his touch, supple and slick from their sweat.

They had made love on and off for two days. As he moved, she could feel her swollen pussy take him in, encasing him in wetness and holding him greedily inside. Bella turned towards where Edward was kissing her shoulder reverently and lifted her hand to caress his stubbled cheek. She felt on fire with the knowledge that every part of her wanted him.

"I can't leave you, not even for a second. What am I going to do?" she said desperately, kissing him everywhere she could reach. "I love you…..I love you so much already."

Her desperation was not from fear. The enormity of what she felt overwhelmed her. Bella began to wonder how she would function without being close to him like this every minute of the day.

Edward stilled at her words before crushing her against him. He still wasn't used to hearing them and the power they had over him. His thrusts became deeper, meeting her desperation with his own.

"Bella… Oh, God. I've loved you for so long. I can't even remember a time when I didn't love you. But I'm here now. I'll take care of you always – always, Bella. Do you hear me? Oh …oh God, baby, I feel you. I feel you coming. God… let go baby. I'm here now. Let go."

Edward had felt her body begin to shake as soon as he recovered from her words and began to speak. His body moved to claim her fully and push away any idea that they would be apart, could be apart. He knew they never would be. This was forever. She had to know it, and if she didn't, he would show her every single day that there would never be a time when he was not with her or she was not with him. Even when they only had their letters, this was true.

-------

Five days ago, this would have seemed an impossible concept. They were both just trying to make it through. Edward was fighting to manage the constant longing that he had realized was not new to him. He had been missing her all along. Bella was just trying to find her place in a new town, in a new job – 24 and single in Boston.

When she got the assignment to interview the press loathing Edward Cullen, she didn't flinch. If she wasn't a reporter, she would hate them, too. Bella was someone who valued her privacy. That's what made her such a good investigative reporter; she understood the boundaries around each of her subjects. She had also heard that he was extremely good looking, but this didn't faze her, either. She was never one to go for the 'obviously good looking' guy. A man had to have depth to capture her attention.

When Bella walked into his office on Tuesday for their 3 o'clock appointment, his secretary was immediately apologetic. It was 2:55 pm and the practice session with the student orchestra was not even close to being over.

"Maybe another 30 minutes," Sylvia had offered, but Bella noted that even Sylvia didn't look like she believed it.

Bella settled in to reread _Bid Time Return_, one of her favorite books of all time. She was just becoming engrossed when Sylvia decided to be proactive about Mr. Cullen's lack of courtesy. "Come with me, Ms. Whitcomb," Sylvia ordered.

Their march into the practice hall was stopped short by the music, which was astonishing. Bella was sure she had never heard this piece before. It mesmerized her instantly with its haunting beauty. It was intimate, yet powerful, making her feel like she had walked in on a private confession she wasn't supposed to hear, but she couldn't turn away. The music brought to her mind an image of a woman standing alone by candlelight. _How strange,_ she thought. Sylvia and Bella stood just outside the door for ten more minutes, listening as the music turned hopeful, then triumphant. Bella's eyes glazed over as she suddenly felt disoriented, as if she was in a place she couldn't identify.

"Aaah….Edward, your 3 o'clock appointment has been waiting for 30 minutes now." His voice seeped through her confusion. It was deep, soothing, and laced with an edge of annoyance.

"It's alright. I can wait," she managed in response. Bella couldn't say when Sylvia left. She had been lost as soon as the music began again. It consumed her. Someplace inside her wept at the sound of each note, while her own eyes remained dry. As the orchestra continued to play, Bella felt the confusion she felt earlier slowly recede, like a film being pulled back from her mind. She felt focused in a way she never had before. All her senses were on edge. Bella was keenly aware that something was happening to her, something she could not fully understand. She felt a bizarre sense of importance in the time and space around her, convinced without reason that she was meant to be here, sitting in this auditorium chair.

_Yes!_ she heard herself say. _You_ _are meant to be here now, in this room, in this time_.

_What the hell?_ Bella began to panic just as her body started to feel heavy. Her instinct to flee was quickly replaced by an inexplicable need to stay. She felt her body lean its full weight against the back of her seat as she gripped the armrests tightly.

_What is happening to me?_ She closed her eyes to see if any of the flight response remained inside her. It didn't. She relaxed her arms as she finally gave in. The fight was over in seconds. When she opened her eyes again, the music was coming to a familiar end. She felt almost like the same girl who had walked into this building just an hour ago. Her breathing had returned to normal.

Again, his voice broke through her thoughts. "Thank you. Thank you," she heard him say.

Bella sat in her seat quietly for awhile longer, testing and steadying herself. She felt strangely calm, though still not clear on exactly what had happened to her earlier. Since he seemed to be oblivious to her presence, she decided to use the moment to get her game plan together. Watching him silently, she realized she still hadn't seen his face, but she noted that he moved with silent purpose – shoulders slightly rounded, but resolved from some unseen burden. His stride was long and graceful. His body, from behind at least, looked trim and powerful – a man fully in control of everything. Well, everything but his hair, which was a strangely appealing bronzeish mess – spikes and waves mixed together in a cacophony of unkempt. After a few more minutes, Bella felt in control enough to start the interview.

"That was breathtaking," she said truthfully. Bella's plan was to try and win him over by relating to the music that he loved.

Her words were met with a stiffening of his posture, followed by obvious evasive maneuvers. _Oh right, 'the interview-hater',_ she remembered. Although her voice didn't quite sound like her own, Bella was determined to be professional and get this over with so she could go home and figure out what the hell was going on with her. She decided to cut to the chase.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm a patient person," she lied. "Plus, I was prepared for you to avoid me." Bella felt satisfied that at least her sense of humor was still intact, but before she could continue, her mouth opened without her having planned anything to say. She felt her tongue dart out to lick her lips as she fixed her gaze on him, as if she could see right though him.

Suddenly, she felt ferocious in her need for him to turn around and look at her. When she heard the words come out of her mouth, they made perfect sense and no sense at all.

His reaction was instant and this satisfied her on some primal level she didn't understand. _What is happening to me?_ she thought. _I am out of control!_ Her next words she forced out very purposefully.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry," she began, popping out of her chair and making a move for her things. She needed to leave so she could get a hold of herself. She knew she was babbling her apology, but she didn't care. She just needed to leave before she embarrassed herself or the paper any further.

Having successfully gotten out of her chair, Bella whirled around to get her coat and purse, planning to make a run for it. But, of course, it didn't happen quite that smoothly. As she grabbed her coat, her purse toppled over, pouring its contents onto the ground.

"Jesus!" she muttered. "What is wrong with me? It's bad enough I've got to get my head examined without running my own personal contest for klutz of the century. Today of all days, Izzy…"

"Bella."

The sound of her name on his breath stilled her hands. It was familiar and comforting all at once, as if she'd heard it a million times.

Bella. The name she wanted people to call her, but never got up the nerve to ask. The name on the inside of her journal. The name she called herself when she wasn't treating herself like everyone else.

_He knows my name_, she thought. _He knows my name._

The idea that he would know her by this name was profound. It said that he already knew things about her that he couldn't, shouldn't, but did. The idea didn't scare her. It made her rise to her feet and turn around. It made her want to be seen. _Yes, that is who I am_. She wanted to look at the man who knew her by name.

And she did.

He was impossible and she was perfect, just as neither of them had ever dared to imagine.

Looking at him, she thought that no one's eyes could be that green. Their depths made her think of a lush forest where she could get lost and be found.

In her eyes, he saw flecks of light or gold or something he could not name, but he felt if he could catch a glimpse from the right angle, he would see her very soul.

There was no fear between them, only recognition. Of what she couldn't yet fathom, but she knew him and he knew her.

"How did you know to call me Bella?"

There were many questions to ask, but this was the only one she cared about.

As Bella watched a tear fall down his face, she knew that the answer would take time to understand. She also knew that she would give him all the time he asked for. She was calm and rooted in the man that stood before her. The feeling of being so centered made her smile.

"Come with me," he said and led her out the door, never letting go of her hand.

She didn't answer him; she didn't need to. They walked across the University grounds to a restaurant on a side street off the main thoroughfare. Inside, the restaurant was small but beautiful with less than two dozen round tables, each lit with candles in preparation for the dinner crowd. The air smelled of cinnamon and red wine and the décor was a mixture of dark woods and cream linens punctuated with bursts of red roses. Edward clearly came here often as the waiters merely smiled at him and motioned for him to sit wherever he wanted.

Besides frequent open glances and a brief kiss of her hand as they crossed the street, neither of them spoke, sensing the need to wait until they were alone to really talk.

Edward chose a booth at the far end of the restaurant which was secluded except for the window, which gave a beautiful view of the quiet side street. As she slid into the booth, he finally let go of her hand, only to grab them both once she'd placed them on the table.

Edward took in how calm she seemed compared to him. He felt like a teenager, full of nerves and anticipation. The feeling was so heady and unfamiliar that he laughed out loud, bringing his lips to her hands once more and dragging his parted lips over her knuckles, before opening his eyes and staring at her for a long moment.

Bella didn't try to move away from him, didn't ask a single question. She simply waited for him. Her eyes were open and trusting, choosing to watch his face or their hands joined together. The small smile never left her face.

He had no idea where to begin. He could see from her eyes that while she felt their connection, she didn't truly know who he was or what they were to each other. He didn't want to scare her, but he couldn't pretend, either. The fact that she had found him again through everything was too much to ignore. He would not risk losing her. He understood that the minute he saw her face. The moment his head registered what his heart knew, the moment he heard her call to him, _"I've come a long way for you, so I'm not leaving until you see me."_

_Yes, she can handle this,_ he decided. _I just need to go slow, but she can handle this. She can do anything, even if she doesn't know it yet. _

He let go of her hands and rubbed his face roughly before leaning towards her again.

"I don't want to scare you, but I need to tell you everything," he began. "Just let me know when you need a break or if you don't understand what I'm saying. This is…our story is…unusual," he smiled at the gross understatement. "But it is extraordinary, and very special, too, if you can believe it."

Bella leaned towards him then, pressing her palms into his open hand. "Tell me everything," she said calmly. "But start with this – how did you know my name was Bella?"

She watched as his face spread into a beautiful smile. "Your name has been Bella for a very long time."

They talked for hours, with brief pauses in between to ask questions, to drink, to eat. They never took their eyes off of each other, as if afraid the other might disappear out of their direct line of sight.

Bella listened intently to every word he said and all the ways his body told her what he had yet to say - how much he loved her then and worshipped her now. Bella could feel it like a tremor in the air, the adoration of his touch followed by the chasteness of his restraint. He would hold her hand lightly as he stared at her lips as she spoke, like a man seeing the sun for the first time.

She knew she should feel disbelief at his words or fear at her own willingness to believe them, but she couldn't. The truth of his words anchored her to her seat and resonated deep within. Her soul drank them in as if they were the only things that had ever truly made sense to her.

When he finally brought out a picture of her from his wallet (she had long accepted that it was her), Bella could only hold it in her trembling hands as tears fell down her cheeks. "My God," she whispered. "My God."

After they shut the restaurant down, they wandered through Haymarket, The Commons, and The Town Center, listening and learning about each other. By 4:15 am the next morning, Edward insisted on walking her home. When she asked if he would like to come in, the look of blind gratitude on his face made her laugh as she kissed him on the cheek. Edward had to stop himself from sobbing right there in her doorway.

By 7 am, he was asleep on her couch while she watched him. He was beautiful and she would call in sick for the next 4 days.

The things they had in common were staggering, from a love of cooking, opera, and dogs (Sylvia had taken Agnes home with her when Edward didn't return to the office), to complete agreement on the correct way to make a tuna fish sandwich, the best store bought ice cream, children, and the necessity of living in the city. And the list grew the more they got to know each other. With each moment they spent together, Bella could see the love he had for her mature, from the mad adoration of an ideal, to the full-bodied passion of a real man for a real woman. He began to really touch her – grasping onto her waist as he moved about the kitchen, holding her hand without caution. She could see his desire breaking through his gaze. She could also feel her own love evolving – from the knowledge that she belonged with him, to the desire to actually be with him. It started almost immediately when she first felt him take her hand. Watching him in the restaurant that first night, he was so open and naked to her. The pull was undeniable, but she wanted to wait, to be sure he could love who she was now.

Besides practice sessions for the summer concert, Edward refused to leave Bella's side as long as she was available. At the end of the third day after he'd walked her home, after a full day of laughter and talking, Bella had pressed her body against his fully when she hugged him goodnight. At first, Edward pulled back to look at her and make sure it wasn't an accident. He didn't want to rush her. He knew she needed time and he wanted her to be sure, because he could hold out for as long as she needed. But he knew once he touched her sexually, he would not be able to stop. He had waited too long for her and wanted it too badly. Being around her made him insane with the need to touch and be touched by her. He was finding it harder and harder every minute to deny everything about her that called to him. At first, he simply tried to shut down that part of himself, but her proximity made that almost impossible. They were beginning to become so familiar with each other, touching each other more freely, a hand on his thigh as she laughed, and his arm around her waist to keep her from tripping. He could feel her body was real now, flesh against his.

As he met her eyes in her doorway, he knew she meant it and kissed her immediately, tangling his hands in her hair as their mouths opened in unison, molding, savoring and discovering.

When their lips finally parted for air, she was shaking with arousal and his eyes were heavy with lust. "Be sure, Bella," he said, stepping back from her. "I want you to be sure." His voice came out low and rough, mirroring the desire and conflict in his eyes.

Edward took another step back, trying to come down from the urge he had to take her right there in her doorway. It wasn't how he wanted their first time to be, but his desire, his need to be fully with her, was a rage inside him. He needed to calm down.

"You know that I love you. You know how long I've loved you. Now that you're here…it's just so much more than I thought was possible. I just…want to give you the time to decide if I'm still what you want."

It was the first time he'd ever said it, although she knew it within an hour of meeting him. The seriousness of his words brought her back from the haze of her own desire. She wanted to focus on what he was saying.

"I can wait for you," he said, then laughed, knowing that she must have felt his erection through his jeans.

"It may not seem like it, but I can wait for you to be sure. I can do anything for you."

Bella was speechless. She could only nod her head to convey her understanding before kissing him goodnight softly on his closed lips.

In return, Edward smiled as he caressed her face for a moment, and then walked away.

Bella only waited as long as it took her to pack an overnight bag, shower, and drive to his house. She wore her red trench coat and black pumps and nothing else. There would be no misunderstanding tonight.

When she arrived at his door, she could hear the sounds of him playing what she now knew was her song softly from his living room. As the doorbell rang, she wondered if he would know immediately that it was her.

When he came to the door, his eyes were wild, but sure as he took her bag slowly and guided her inside. As soon as he closed the door, Edward grabbed her with a force that finally matched the way he looked at her. She let out a cry of relief as he held her tightly, showering her face and neck with feverish kisses. "Bella," he murmured over and over to her as he began to undo her coat. He froze as he touched her bare shoulder before reaching up to cradle her face lovingly in his hands and bringing his lips to hers.

"I belong to you," he whispered as he stepped back and undressed in front of her before removing her coat and worshipping her for the next two days.

------

His thoughts came full circle as Edward began to feel her muscles tighten around him, becoming impossibly wetter, hotter. To him, it was as if her body began to hum with vibration. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt as it travelled from her body straight to his cock, deep into his balls, and up to his stomach to almost stop his heart. It happened this way, every time he felt her come. It made him scream to release it, for fear his heart would burst. And when her body was finished, he would stare down at her in wonder as he felt his own release fill her. "I watch you because I have to," he had told her once. "I can't be anywhere else in that moment when you give yourself over to me." It was the closest to heaven he'd ever come.

But this time it was different, as he felt the tremors through her chest and legs, they seemed to warm rather than shock him. As he felt her walls contract around him, he felt clearer, lighter, as if he could levitate them off the bed. He realized then that he was shaking, too, that their bodies were humming together, back and forth. As she came, screaming his name into his mouth, he breathed her in and felt himself come with her, pulsing into her rhythmically without breaking their movement, their vibration. He slowed his pace briefly to give her a chance to catch her breath. Bella's eyes fluttered open as she realized that he was not stopping. Their eyes locked together as the understanding between them flowed wordlessly – as their breath became one.

"I will never stop loving you," each one said to the other.

_We will never stop._

_We are eternal._

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A/N: Well, that's all folks. Don't forget to vote for the outtakes on my profile page. I'll take the top two and see what I can come up with for ya :-) One more group hug to everyone who read this while it was still "in-progress". I know it was a big risk, so thanks for taking it with me. Also, I wanted to give a big o'le American "Hi There!" to all the readers from so many different countries. Fanfiction (dot) net lets you see that kind of thing and it has just tickled me to see readers from New Zealand, Croatia, Kuwait, Malaysia and Brazil. It's so wonderful to see that Twilight love is really EVERYWHERE! Bless you all. As for what's next for me, I am looking forward to catching up on some great fics now that I'm not writing/editing my own. I've got a full list of favorites on my profile, but I thought I would list a few here to wet your appetite. See you soon!

Stories I'm:

_Currently In-love With:_

Embodiment by Cullen312 - It's romantic and very original. The writing is wonderful and the plot is intense and engaging at every turn (but most of you already know this).

Illegal Contact by GreenEyedGirl17 - Because its romantic and making me like football. I also love potty-mouth Edward. This Bella is confident and I'm a sucker for a confident Bella.

Bonne Foi by Amethyst Jackson - It's Darkward = all you love about Vampward without the angst.

_Looking forward to:_

Emancipation Proclamation - Because Jessica1971 told me I had to read it and she's always right

3-2-1 by Heather dawn - Because it sounds crazy and the summary reminds me of 3 Weddings and a Funeral (a movie I LOVE!)

Make Me Believe by bellasunderstudy1 - Because I always love to read a good story on how Edward and Bella find their way back to each other (can't you tell).

_Eternally In-Love with_:

Abbracciare il Cantante by Bratty-Vamp - This story is awesome. The final chapters just blew my mind. I've never read anything like it.

The Antidote by jandco - Again, just a very original take on the "singer" concept. I really can't say more. Just read it.

A Life Extraordinary by Lolashoes - Lola started my love affair with twific. It's just amazing in every possible way.

First Night in the Cottage Edward and Bella BD by writeit - This was one of the first fics I ever read. A year later, it can hold up to almost any lemon I've ever read, while still being in PERFECT character with canon Edward and Bella. *Sigh*

_and just in case you need a laugh..._

Attention, WalMart Shoppers by sillybella - Just pure fun.

Bella Swan:Kidnapper by Kambria Rain - This is a full length story that made me laugh with every chapter.

Boycotts and Barflies by vjgm - I think this is only available on Twilighted, but it's worth the black screen conundrum. It's one of the funniest stories I've ever read while still being SO romantic.

Alright, bye for now. Go vote for those outtakes on my profile and I'll get to writing 'em. Oh and ONE more thing, how about a review..for old times sake :-) Love ya - LW


	17. Chapter 17 More to Come

In the Flesh - The Spirit to Flesh Outtakes: A Twific by LittleWing, beta'd by the goddess known as Jessica1971

A/N: So after posting the 1st outtake last week Tuesday and getting very little response, Jessica told me that a lot of you guys might not have me on Author Alert, so you wouldn't know when I posted a new story. This is my attempt to point you in the right direction if you are still interested in reading StF outtakes. Below are a few teasers from each outtake that will be posted. The first Outtake, Coming Home, is already up, so please go to my profile and go to _In the Flesh: Spirit to Flesh Outtakes_ to check it out. The others are coming just as soon as I can finish them.

Thanks again for reading! Love always--LW

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!

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More to come…In the Flesh: Spirit to Flesh Outtake Teasers

**Coming Home – **(The Engagement)

Edward sighed happily as he wrapped his arm more firmly around Bella's thigh, pleased to find where he had ended up sleeping through the rest of the night. By the depth of her breathing, he could tell that she was still asleep. He wondered absently if she would be embarrassed when she woke up to find him between her legs.

_Probably_, he chuckled as he pressed his lips against her hipbone and grazed his cheek against the softness of her pubic hair.

They were meeting his parents – the whole family, actually – tonight for dinner, and he could not wait. It would be their first trip out of the house since she'd come to his door two days ago.

**Sweet Chaos **– (Married with Kids)

The house was an absolute disaster. For the millionth time, Bella was glad they didn't have a lot of furniture. Between the twin stroller, juice bottles, squeaky toys, big wheels, and plates of partially eaten cheese, apples and oatmeal, she couldn't imagine any more clutter. With a sigh, Bella stepped right over the block set to walk through the massive glass doors. From the back porch, she could hear them somewhere out in the woods - decidedly human growling followed by high pitched shrieks of delighted terror. "Yum! Yum! Yum! I'm gonna have LOTS of little toes for dinner…" Edward growled in the baritone he reserved for his "Big Bear" performances. Bella chuckled as she pulled up a chair to relieve her slightly swollen ankles. The temperature outside was perfect, warm and dry. _Edward was right,_ she thought, _I should have taken my nap out here._

"Nooooo!"

She could hear her two children cry in unison as they burst through the last line of shrubs before the clearing. They were a blur of auburn and blond curls, knees, colorful socks, and purple and red sneakers. "Mommy…help! Big Bear! Big Bear!"

As the children raced up the steps, seeking the "safety zone" of their mother's arms, Bella could see Edward emerge from the trees with their oversized brown chenille throw secured to his head by what looked like a pair of women's pantyhose. "Wow!" Bella mouthed before she finally broke out in laughter and rose from her seat to get a better look at the spectacle. Her face settled into a wide grin as she watched him straighten up from his "bear crouch" to find her giggling down at him. Their eyes met just as her children crashed into her, one on each leg.

**The Gift Inside** – (What happens when Bella returns from Boston)

"Are you ready to tell me what happened? What has brought all this on?"

Bella hung her head and sighed. Even while locked within herself, she'd had a vague but constant awareness that at some point she would have to explain herself. She had decided before she came downstairs that she didn't have the energy to come up with a concoction. All she had was the truth, bare and raw. But she knew she wouldn't share it, at least not all of it. _Charles wasn't ready for that_, she thought. She knew she never would be. She decided to peel off the lightest parts of the tragedy. The parts she could stand to watch illuminated by the light of day. Even though Anthony was real in her world, she felt the least connection to him, and so she decided to start with him. Edward was the one who held her heart. Edward was what she could never share, never do without.

"Do you remember Mr…" her breath hitched even as she tried to say his name. _I must keep this as short as possible_, she thought. "Do you remember Anthony… Anthony Masen from the train to Boston?"

"The young gentleman in the dining car?" Charles was perplexed that this could possibly have anything to do with him. _She just met him_, he thought.

Bella did not answer his question, but her sigh let him know that his guess was correct.

_What could have transpired between them that would have led to this devastation?_ Charles pondered as he strained to recall his brief meeting with Mr. Masen.

"I thought you just met the boy, Bella. What does he have to do with…"

"He is dead, father. I received word the day we returned."

Charles was silent. Of all the scenarios that had run through his mind, this was the last thing he expected to hear. As he saw his daughter's face become even more drawn under the weight of their conversation, he could not comprehend how so short a meeting could have produced this state. _No more than an hour at the most_, he calculated. His next question seemed impossible, but it was the only one that made any sense.

"Were you… do… were you in love with him, Bella?"

_Were you in love with him, Bella?_

Bella turned the words over in her mind. Past tense. In love. The phrase used to seem so large in her young mind. Legendary and grand. Full of passion and promise.

Everything she wanted, she had and lost. All that was left was the love she felt killing her as it burned, very present and real, from the inside.

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A/N: Hope these perk your interest enough to check out the Outtakes. Once you're in, make sure you sign up for story alert to read new outtakes that post.

Xoxox - LW


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